The Cheesecrafter & The Pet Peeve Lady
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A young cheesemaker wants to win the means to regain his late father's business; and a teenager sends her nit-picking grandmother to the island in hope of possibly curing her. Follows 'A Little Auld Lang Syne'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Here at last is my first story for 2010! I recently learned that Terry Gardner (Bishop T) passed away in June 2009, evidently from a heart condition, and I wanted to give her a special posthumous thanks here. (If you're a_ Star Trek _fan, check out her Vulcan-centered tales.) And as ever, many thanks to Harry2, jtbwriter, PDXWiz and Misheemom. If you are a reader but not a reviewer, I would really love to hear from you, so please take a moment and leave a review, thanks!

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§ § § -- April 29, 2006

"Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Roarke reminded his welcome-wagon contingent, just as he had done ever since Leslie had first arrived on the island (and undoubtedly before), and set the plane-dock band into action. Leslie had been glad when he'd resurrected the tune he had introduced in the fall of 1979; it had always been one of her favorites. Sometimes it was nice to go retro, she reflected with a little smile of her own.

First onto the dock was a somewhat overweight older woman, conservatively dressed in a skirt and blazer with a fussy blouse under the latter, her hair more gray than brown and her eyes peering critically at her surroundings from over the tops of half-glasses on a silver beaded chain. "Mrs. Gladys Newbold, of Savannah, Georgia, a widow of several years."

"She looks like she's checking the place out for petty faults," Leslie remarked, noting the way the woman squinted closely at the leis, the drinks, even the native girls.

"You've stumbled upon one of her most obvious traits, according to the teenaged granddaughter who wrote the letter requesting the fantasy on her behalf," Roarke said. "Ashley Newbold says that her grandmother is a lovely lady, very generous and kind, very forgiving—except of petty little things. She has a great many pet peeves, and the young lady asked if I might indulge her grandmother these small grievances for just one weekend, presumably in the hope that Mrs. Newbold will…'get it out of her system'."

Leslie laughed. "I wouldn't bet on that. Once you get hung up on something, it's just about impossible to get over it. What bugs her so much, then?"

"Ashley provided some examples," Roarke said, looking amused. "People who leave shopping carts where they have emptied them, rather than moving them for the sake of others; jaywalkers; misused automobile turn indicators; careless spelling; and those who dress untidily, to name just a few. For this one weekend, she will be allowed to indulge those pet peeves and try to correct them."

"_Try,_ huh?" Leslie inquired, eyeing him sidewise, and he simply grinned before returning his attention to the plane dock. "So is this our cheesemaker?" she asked when a slender, blond young man stepped out of the seaplane's hatch and paused long enough to blink at the sky before shrugging hastily out of his heavy sheepskin coat. "Must be from somewhere _waaaaay_ up north."

Roarke chuckled. "So he is. That is Paul Mahtonen, who hails from the town of Marquette, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. At this time of year it's still quite cold there, even down to snow remaining on the ground. I suspect he brought that coat out of habit."

Leslie stifled a loud laugh. "That's some habit, then! So anyway…his fantasy is to win the Fantasy Island Cheesemakers' Competition, of course."

"Of course," said Roarke. "But he wants to win more than merely the contest. He comes from a long line of cheesemakers who immigrated from Finland in the 1800s, and grew up helping his father make cheese. However, due to a number of unfortunate business decisions and then his father's heart attack when Mr. Mahtonen was sixteen, the family operation had to be sold to an outside interest. Mr. Mahtonen's father was heartbroken and died only a few years later."

"How sad," Leslie murmured.

"Indeed. Mr. Mahtonen has spent the twenty-one years since the sale of the business developing his own varieties of cheese, the three best of which he has entered in the contest. Winning the competition would present him with enough money to buy back the family cheesemaking enterprise."

"Aha. Sounds like this is his life's ambition," Leslie commented.

Roarke glanced at her and half-smiled, then frowned a little as he focused on Paul Mahtonen just stepping onto the ground from the dock, drink in hand, leis hanging from his neck, his long, handsome face filled with hope and determination. "Indeed, it has consumed his entire existence since the day of the company's sale; he has even sacrificed his social life for the sake of his goal. Unfortunately, there is a little hitch. Under the new owner, the former Mahtonen business has done quite well; they are not large, but they do produce a very tasty cheese. And they, too, have entered this year's contest—with an excellent chance of winning."

"I'm sure he wouldn't care about competing against it, as long as he could win the money to buy it back," Leslie said.

"Perhaps not. But he has labored on this, to the exception of all else, for more than two decades…and what's more, he's going to be unpleasantly surprised when he learns the name of the current owner." A native girl approached him with his champagne flute, and he raised it in toast with the familiar words: "My dear guests, I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

Paul Mahtonen hoisted his hollowed-out pineapple in the air, beamed at Roarke and Leslie, glanced with minimal interest at Gladys Newbold, and took a healthy quaff. Leslie found herself wondering exactly what bad news was waiting in the proverbial wings.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Haruko isn't here?" Roarke asked in surprise, seeing Christian guiding the triplets down the stairs. He had been keeping an eye on them at the main house while Roarke and Leslie were greeting this weekend's guests, and now that they were back, he was preparing to take them in with them to his office.

"No, Kazuo and Katsumi took her and Chikako to Japan for the weekend. They're visiting his mother; she's been ill lately, and he had the idea that her health might not be as optimal as could be hoped for, so he decided he'd better have the girls meet their grandmother while they still could. Of course, that leaves us somewhat in the lurch. Ingrid takes the weekends to thoroughly clean house, without us or the children in the way, and I didn't want to disrupt the routine she's worked out."

Roarke nodded and smiled; then both men looked up as Leslie came into the house, closely trailed by Gladys Newbold. "Of course Ah think this island is just gorgeous," Mrs. Newbold was discoursing in a thick southern accent. "It's just that Ah really don't think that wild jungle should be left unchecked like that. Y'all really oughta neaten up all those tacky palms and that nasty undergrowth." She seemed startled to see Roarke, Christian and the children there. "Ah didn't know all y'all were here."

"We were just on our way out," Christian said with a polite smile. "If you'll excuse us…and enjoy your weekend."

Mrs. Newbold blinked at him, then noticed the triplets, who were all staring unabashedly at her, just the way they stared at every stranger who came into their grandfather's study. "Oh mah goodness," she said a little faintly. "Three at once?"

"They're ours, and we love them all, Mrs. Newbold," Leslie said with a smile that even Christian could see was already slightly strained. She stepped into the study and grinned at the three toddlers. "Are you ready to go to work with Daddy?"

"Yeah!" the triplets chorused, making their parents and Roarke laugh. Tobias hopped up and down, beaming, and added, "Me help Daddy!"

"Good for you, son," Leslie said, laughing. "Okay, say goodbye to Grandfather."

"Bye-bye, Ampa," the triplets chimed obediently, and Roarke chuckled and waved at the children as Christian started out of the room.

"Ah didn't know they could talk," Mrs. Newbold remarked, as if she had expected to have met three performing chimpanzees rather than children.

"They're almost two," Leslie told her, "and they're really developing fast now. Before we know it, we'll be sending them off to kindergarten."

"_Herregud,"_ said Christian, pausing in the inner foyer. "I daresay we'll know it, my Rose." He hiked an eyebrow at her and she giggled, making him grin. "We'll see you later."

"Three at once," said Mrs. Newbold again, watching Christian shepherd the children out the door and pull it shut behind him. She made a fanning motion under her double chin with one hand, therefore missing the dubious look Christian shot her in the last two seconds before shutting the door. "Y'all must be exhausted all the time. Ah surely would be…Ah just can't _abide_ the sort of mess small children make, and with _three_ of them—"

"Excuse me, Mrs. Newbold, but perhaps you'd like to tell Leslie and me a little more about your fantasy," Roarke broke in before the woman could get carried away. "If you'd care to sit down…is there anything we can get you?"

"No, but thank you kindly, Mr. Roarke," Mrs. Newbold replied, seeming to relax with relief and settling herself into one of the leather chairs. Roarke took his own chair and Leslie the other leather chair, watching their guest carefully smooth out her skirt. "Yes, this fantasy of mine. Well, really of Ashley's." Her face lit with what Leslie could have sworn was approval. "She is just the sweetest little ol' child…"

"She seems to feel that you might enjoy a weekend of…helping others to see the error of their ways," Roarke said diplomatically, earning a quick admiring glance from Leslie, who had to admit to herself that she couldn't possibly have come up with anything nearly as clever. "Perhaps we may not be able to address quite all of your concerns, but…"

"Mr. Roarke, if y'all can see to it that Ah can make people understand just what they're doing by disregardin' others, Ah'll be happier than a pig in a holler." Mrs. Newbold beamed while Leslie and Roarke looked at each other with mild surprise at her colloquialism. "And Ah do thank y'all both for giving me the chance."

"Very well," Roarke said and smiled. "Then if you are ready, a driver is waiting to take you to your bungalow; and once you have settled in and refreshed yourself, your fantasy will begin. You need only walk out your door, and soon you will find someone to…help."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Roarke," Mrs. Newbold said and smiled broadly, pushing herself back out of her chair. "The service y'all provide here is _exactly_ the sort that nobody else bothers with nowadays, Ah do declare. Ah'll surely recommend your island to all my friends. Y'all are all just as polite and courtly as can be…a lost art, you understand. Well, Ah thank y'all both once again." And the lady departed, peering around the study through her glasses but mercifully withholding comment.

Leslie fanned herself with one hand and let her eyelids drop to half-mast. "Ah do decla-uh," she simpered in an exaggerated version of Gladys Newbold's accent, "Ah surely hope we-all suhvahve the weekend, Ah surely, surely do!"

"Leslie," Roarke reprimanded with a stern look, and she dropped the act and rolled her eyes. "Suppose you go and bring Paul Mahtonen back here, and consider your attitude toward Mrs. Newbold on the way."

"Mah apologies, Fathuh, suh," Leslie retorted sweetly before leaving the house, shaking her head all the way out the door. Only then did Roarke allow his amusement at her antics to show, and chuckled to himself for a moment as he unfolded Paul Mahtonen's original letter which had arrived in mid-January, to refresh himself on its contents.

"My cheeses are pretty eclectic, Mr. Roarke," Paul began to explain, some forty-five minutes after his arrival. "I figured I needed to make some bold choices in my ingredients if I hoped to have more than half the chance of an iceberg in the Caribbean to win this contest. I've heard of all the different prestigious cheesemakers who come here every year. I'd like to think I've finally dreamed up something that'll stand a chance."

"How 'eclectic' do you mean, exactly, Mr. Mahtonen?" Roarke inquired.

Paul grinned. "They're not inedible, at least as far as I'm concerned. Of course, you and Mrs. Enstad are welcome to try samples."

"I hope you're including my children in that," Leslie bantered with a grin of her own. "They're all cheese fiends, particularly my son. Even the word _cheese_ gets him all excited."

"Sounds like my kind of kid," Paul said, and they all laughed.

"So how long have you been trying to come up with something you think would have a chance in the contest?" Leslie asked.

"Ten years. I spent half that time just perfecting my basic recipe, and then another two or three years playing with add-ins. I've settled on three that seem to have the most promise. A snacking cheese I call Nuts and Bolts, which contains macadamia, pecans and unsalted cashews, along with sunflower seeds, and toasted sesame seeds on the rind. I also have a dessert cheese called Cheer Me Up—a sweeter cheese with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla in it. And then there's the one I've pinned all my hopes on. It's called Sunspots." By now they had reached the fourth of the six long tables in the yard beside the main house where all the various entries sat on plates, most tended by their creators, waiting to be sampled before the contest actually got under way. "Right this way."

Roarke and Leslie followed Paul about two-thirds of the way down the table and paused beside a plate containing a surprisingly small round cheese, dandelion-yellow in color, flecked with small red bits. "This one is a nice mild cheese that I added just a smidgen of tomato paste to," Paul explained low, mindful of fellow contestants around them, "and it also contains finely chopped sun-dried tomatoes."

"Oh, that sounds really tempting," Leslie remarked.

"Would you like to try some?" Paul invited, and both she and Roarke nodded. He sliced tiny wedges off the round and handed one to each; Leslie took a tentative nibble and then blinked in amazement.

"I'm not quite the cheese fan my kids are," she admitted, "but this would win me right over. I do love tomatoes, especially sun-dried, and I can taste the tomato influence in this."

"This is delicious, Mr. Mahtonen," Roarke complimented him with a broad smile. "If this is any indication of your general abilities, I believe you stand a very good chance of winning our contest. Of course," he added teasingly, "my grandchildren will be the ultimate authority on the edibility of your cheese."

"If they like it, I'm a cinch, huh?" Paul asked and laughed. "The sooner they try it, the better. I'm glad you both like it. Having this fantasy fulfilled really means the world to me. I promised myself the day the business was sold that I'd get the family livelihood back, to honor my father's memory." He looked sober. "So I'm really grateful for the opportunity, Mr. Roarke." He lit then. "This is fresh cheese I brought with me on this morning's trip, by the way. It's the only way to eat this stuff. I found out if it ages beyond about a week, it gets a strange taste to it that detracts from the flavor. So if you don't mind, I'm gonna get over to the kitchen and get going on some more batches."

"By all means," Roarke said, and he and Leslie watched the young man hurry away. Then Leslie sliced off a few more thin wedges and stacked them in her hand. "What are you doing?" her father inquired, amused.

"Taking some for Christian and the kids," Leslie said. "I told Christian he shouldn't bother working today, but he said he needed to finish up a website for some client." She grinned. "This'll get him out of that stuffy old office." Roarke laughed as she walked briskly away with her loot.

When the children saw their mother walk in, they all squealed happily and scuttled off the play mats where they'd been horsing around under Christian's supervision, attacking Leslie around the knees and making her laugh. Christian laughed too, standing up. "What brought you over here?" he asked.

"I have treats," she announced with a grin and handed him a wedge of the cheese. "I think you're going to like this. I tried it and even I like it, and you know me and cheese."

"Teeze?" squealed Tobias and began hopping up and down like a jumping bean on speed. "Me teeze, Mommy, me teeze too!"

Leslie giggled merrily and handed her excited son another of the slices. "Here you go. And there's some for you too." She gave Susanna and Karina each a slice, and watched her husband and children sample it. Actually, she noticed with a stifled laugh, Tobias didn't bother pausing to gather the nuances of the flavor; he simply gobbled it right down, smacking his lips and making everyone in the office burst out laughing.

Christian swallowed a bite around his own laughter. "True to form, that son of ours, isn't he." He examined the remainder of his wedge. "This is very interesting. I don't think I've ever seen cheese that looked exactly like this."

"It's called Sunspots," Leslie told him. "The red bits are minced sun-dried tomato."

"I see!" Christian brought the cheese closer to his eyes, squinted carefully at it and then took a larger bite, smiling. "Yes, this is very tasty! Where did you get it?"

"It's made by one of our guests," Leslie said. "The one who's entered this weekend's cheesemaking contest. He has a couple of other kinds, but this is the one he thinks has the best chance of taking the prize."

"Daddy," Karina blurted then, holding up the last bit of her slice. "Yummy teeze."

"It's very good, isn't it, _lillan min?"_ Christian agreed with a grin. "Do you like it too, Susanna _lilla?"_

"Yum," Susanna agreed and popped the last of hers into her mouth, then peered hopefully up at Leslie. "More, Mommy?"

She laughed. "There's plenty more where that came from. For heaven's sake, my love, haven't you finished that website yet? I'd think you'd want to quit working for the day and come sample all the entries. The tables in the side yard at the main house are full now."

"Oh, are they?" Christian queried with interest and shot a look at his computer. "I do still have some finishing touches to put on this thing, and I promised my customer it would be ready to put online by closing today. Do you think you can wait till I've completed this thing and gotten it off my agenda?"

"Well, since you put it that way, okay," Leslie agreed and grinned. "Don't keep us waiting too long if you can help it, though. We've got three little cheese freaks who are just dying to gorge themselves."

"Don't I know it," Christian said, chuckling and resuming his seat. "Since you're here to keep an eye on the imps, I might just get this done faster."

It took him about forty more minutes to decide he had done all he could do with his client's site, and carefully saved it for final approval before putting it live online. He then helped Leslie get the triplets settled into the car and drove back to the main house, parking on the far side of the fountain from the porch and staring in amazement at all the tables full of cheese. "A cheese lover's paradise, for certain."

"The kids should have a fabulous time here," Leslie agreed, grinning. There was a definite smell of cheese in the air, and the triplets were wriggling impatiently in their car seats, eyes and noses working overtime. It was all Christian and Leslie could do to keep them from taking off before they had all three children freed and under at least a little parental supervision.

Leslie spotted Paul Mahtonen just replacing an empty plate with a full one and went for him, with her husband some distance behind collecting cheese samples for the clamoring triplets. "Having to replenish your supply already?" she asked with a grin.

Paul looked up and grinned back. "That's a good sign, Mrs. Enstad," he said cheerfully and picked up the empty plate. "Means I have a good chance in this thing. I think Dad'd be really proud. Hey…are those your kids?" He had glanced past her and spotted the triplets emptying Christian's hands of cheese slices as fast as the prince could produce them.

"My little cheese fiends," Leslie said and laughed. "Christian, my love, over here."

Christian approached as soon as he had distracted the triplets momentarily with more cheese, and the children followed like a trio of puppies, waiting for more handouts. Leslie introduced him and Paul, and Paul presented Christian with a partial bow from the waist up. "Good to meet you, Your Highness. Have you tried my cheese yet?"

"I certainly have," Christian said through a laugh. "Very tasty. If you don't watch out, my children will completely clean you out."

"You and everybody else in the contest," Leslie added dryly, to answering laughs. "So it looks like your cheese is pretty popular, huh?"

"Either that, or people are just hungry," Paul remarked in an attack of self-deprecation, watching Christian slice off cheese wedges and hand them to the children. "I've seen them sampling everything. But this is my third batch of Sunspots here, so I must be doing something right." Someone came up behind him, murmuring an excuse, and he stepped aside and watched with a smile as the person cut off a nice thick wedge of his brand-new cheese. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," came the reply, and the guest sauntered off, munching on his cheese. The triplets, who had been watching, immediately demanded some as well, and Leslie laughed and cut off some for them.

"At this rate they won't eat any lunch," Christian said, shaking his head a little as his son rapidly worked his way through what must have been his fifth or sixth slice. His sisters weren't too far behind. "Though I expect they're going to get thirsty from all that cheese."

Karina looked up at Paul, who grinned at her, and said unexpectedly, "Yummy teeze." Paul laughed and thanked her, and Christian and Leslie chuckled when their daughter added, "More? Peeze?"

"How old are they?" Paul asked curiously.

"Almost two," Leslie replied. "Just in the last few months, they've started really talking up a storm. We can almost hold conversations with them now. Hey, you three, let's go see what Mariki's going to make for lunch, huh?"

"No," wailed the triplets in nearly perfect chorus. "Want teeze," Tobias added, as if he'd been elected spokesperson.

"Just a little more, and then you have to stop," Christian said firmly. "Let's find something from home, hmm? Thank you again, Mr. Mahtonen…my Rose, are you coming with us?" Leslie smiled and bid Paul goodbye, and trailed her husband and children over to the next table. Paul watched them home in on a cheese from Lilla Jordsö that had a strange color and an oddly sweet odor he could detect even from where he stood, and then turned back to arrange another plate of his Nuts and Bolts cheese next to the already-half-missing Sunspots wheel.

"Mind if I try some?" a feminine voice asked from nearby, and he looked up with a nod, then froze in astonishment, recognizing the woman who hovered beside him. Her face went slack with recognition too. "Paul Mahtonen?"

"Janelle!" he blurted, astounded. "Never thought I'd see you here!"

"Neither did I," Janelle Frainey admitted with a little laugh. "What're you doing here? You're still making cheese, huh?"

"Oh, you bet," Paul assured her proudly. "In fact, I'm entered in the contest."

Janelle surveyed all the tables around them and then returned her attention to Paul's little area. "You sure have a lot of competition."

"Well, I'm hoping I'm onto something here," Paul said, neatly cleaving off a slice of Sunspots and handing it to her. "Let me know what you think."

Janelle took a bite and blinked, then smiled broadly and gave him a thumbs-up, nodding vigorously. Paul grinned while she swallowed and finally said, "This is fantastic! What did you put in it, anyway?" Then she held up a hand. "No, on second thought, don't tell me. Say, listen, is this what you've been doing since college? Making cheese?"

"I spend all my spare time at it," Paul said. "Have to keep myself under a roof and clothed and fed, you know, so in real life I'm an accountant. But I never gave up on developing my own cheeses. I mean, if I didn't, I'd be a disgrace to the family line."

Janelle nodded as if she'd heard it before. "Yeah, I remember…that old family pride. If you win, what'll you do with the money?"

"Buy back the business," Paul said. "I can see it now. I'll build up Mahtonen Cheese Company from the beginning, starting with Sunspots and my other two best ones here, and then I'll keep on developing different cheeses as I go. I just wish Dad could see it. He'd be so proud…" He was lost enough in his longtime dream that he didn't see the look on Janelle's face; she turned away and set about taking a slice off the wheel of Cheer Me Up cheese to hide her expression.

"Well, good luck," she murmured, suddenly eager to absent herself from the area. It was probably time she checked up on Genia and Uncle George anyway. There was no telling what they might have cooked up this time.

"Hey." Paul caught her as she started away with slices of Sunspots and Nuts and Bolts. "You here for the weekend?" At her nod, he suggested a little diffidently, "How about we have supper together, over at the pond restaurant? Scuttlebutt says they have great food over there. We could take a break from cheese and catch up."

"Well…" Janelle hesitated, but Paul's expression was so eager and hopeful that in the end she couldn't resist him. _Just like back in college,_ she thought, faintly annoyed with herself. "Okay, sure. We could meet there at six."

"It's a date," Paul said immediately and grinned at her. "See you then."

Released at last, Janelle tossed him a quick wave and hurried off to the kitchen, which Mariki had reluctantly surrendered for the weekend to the cheesemakers. She had, however, insisted on barricading off a corner of the room so she could prepare lunch for Roarke, Leslie, Christian and the children, and was hard at it when Janelle let herself in the kitchen door. She didn't miss Janelle's entrance, though, and looked up with a harassed expression. "Not another one," she grumbled resignedly.

"Sorry," Janelle said sheepishly and smiled. "I just thought I'd better make sure my uncle and cousin don't contribute more than their fair share to the general destruction." That just got her an eye-roll from Mariki and a groan, and Janelle hastily put distance between herself and the cook in the hope of avoiding any further confrontation. She scanned the room, and after a moment spied her quarry in a far corner, doing something furtive-looking behind a screen of menus they probably had snitched from the hotel restaurant. Janelle sighed and crossed the room, weaving around tables and dodging other contestants till she had reached them.

"Geez, as if your plotting weren't enough, now you've gone and stolen menus," she complained, startling the young woman and the balding, graying man into staring at her for a split second of alarm before they relaxed.

"Oh, it's only Janelle," said Genia Prentice, Janelle's cousin, flapping a dismissive hand at her. "Don't worry, Dad. And by the way, Jan, we only borrowed these, we didn't steal them. We need them to make sure nobody sees what we're doing." Genia tugged back her long dark hair and fished a clawlike clip out of the pocket of the voluminous apron she wore, gathering the unruly curls into a messy knot and clamping them in place atop her head. "Blast it, I swear, I'm getting a haircut while I'm here. It's all on the tab anyway, isn't it?"

"_Our_ tab, young lady," George Prentice reminded her sternly. Janelle's mother's older brother, who had recently inherited the business from his father, was flushed and perspiring; the heat in the kitchen was steadily building, between all the cheesemakers and Mariki's lunch preparations. "In the end, we're still paying for everything. We're taking a big gamble here, and you'd better remember that before you go spending all our money in this little paradise. Now where'd you put the bucket?"

"Right here." Genia squatted, dragged a covered white plastic pail out from under their work surface, and heaved it up, setting it with a bang on the metal countertop. "We're good to go, Dad. I got these from a fisherman in town yesterday afternoon, already shelled, and I've been babysitting them ever since. They're as fresh as I could get 'em."

"What are they?" Janelle asked, wondering if she'd regret the question.

"Oysters, my girl," George replied with a broad grin, his voice low but triumphant. "These will be the key ingredient in my masterpiece cheese."

"The one that's gonna win us the contest," Genia added smugly.

Janelle stared at them in disbelief. _"This_ is your secret ingredient?"

"Shhhh!" Genia and George hissed at her in perfect unison. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this, Janelle, you understand? If any of the other contestants hears about this, next thing you know, our idea'll get stolen and we'll lose. And we _have_ to win!" This impassioned declaration came from Genia, who as far back as Janelle could remember had had a hankering for the finer things in life. Janelle had once suggested that Genia just marry a millionaire, to which her cousin had tossed her head and said scornfully that millionaires didn't hang out in Marquette, Michigan, and who wanted to be tied down to a man anyway? Janelle stared now at the bucket of oysters and slowly shook her head.

"So what's this…creation of yours gonna be called?" she muttered.

"Love Me, Love My Cheese," Genia said with pride. "I came up with that myself."

"I'm not surprised," mumbled Janelle, making a face as George pried the lid off the bucket and revealed a mass of oysters within. She watched him doubtfully while he reached in with both bare hands and scooped out a bunch of the slimy little creatures, spreading them out over the metal work surface and giving his hands a hasty rinse under the nearby faucet before grabbing a butcher knife and quickly mincing the oysters into tiny pieces. She watched till she couldn't look at the mass slaughter any longer, and peered at her cousin. "So what exactly are these things supposed to do for the cheese?"

"Oysters are aphrodisiacs, right?" Genia said, speaking as if Janelle should have been born with this knowledge. "The idea here is to get the judges to fall madly in love with the taste of this cheese, and _voila_, we win. Simple as that. Inspired, no?"

"No," Janelle responded under her breath, unsure whether she wanted Genia to hear or not. Not that it mattered; Genia had already turned back to watch George finish slicing and dicing the helpless oysters. Janelle shook her head, her doubt growing. "You're lucky I'm not one of the judges. I'd give that the award for Weirdest Cheese."

George shot her a quelling look and growled, "You forget I used to be a cook—and a damn good one too, if I may say so myself. I know what'll go good in cheese and what won't. If all you're gonna do is stand there and criticize, then I suggest you go someplace else and find something to do with all your spare time. You do want us to win, don't you? This is the only way I can get an infusion of cash to keep this place running. If this cheese is gonna clinch us the win, I've gotta concentrate on what I'm doing and not have to put up with crap from the peanut gallery."

"Yeah, well…but _oysters?"_ Janelle finally asked, screwing up her face.

"You just wait and see," Genia said defiantly, whirling around and getting right into her cousin's face so that Janelle was forced to back off a step or two. "Dad's done wonders with this business ever since Grandpa bought it off that old sick Finn years ago. This is the cheese that's gonna put us on the map. I thought you were here to give us moral support. Are you with us or aren't you?"

Janelle thought of Paul and bit her lip, deciding the lack of that particular knowledge wouldn't do either Genia or George any harm. She cleared her throat. "I'm going for some lunch, and it's _not_ gonna be cheese. You two want anything?"

Genia shrugged, apparently satisfied that she had properly cowed Janelle into obedience. "Is there a McDonald's on this island? I could sure go for a Big Mac."

"Big Macs have cheese," Janelle grunted, making a face and feeling overwhelmed by cheese all of a sudden. "Besides, I don't think there's one here."

"Too bad," Genia said with a sigh. "It's my favorite guilty pleasure. Well, see if the hotel restaurant makes cheeseburgers, then."

"Only if you take those menus back by suppertime tonight," Janelle retorted, ignoring the disgusted look on Genia's face. "Anything for you, Uncle George?"

"I'll grab something later," George replied dismissively, absorbed in scraping his oyster bits into a bowl and scooping out another double handful from the pail. "Why don't you go on out and get us some of the competition's samples before you come back, so we know what we're up against."

"Yeah, okay," Janelle agreed, deciding there was nothing wrong with that, and left the kitchen with something of a sense of relief. She'd already had enough cheese to last her the next few months, but she wasn't averse to gathering new samples for her uncle. Then she smirked to herself. _Wait till they taste Paul's cheeses, _she thought wickedly. _If they're as good as he says, they might realize that ridiculous oyster cheese of theirs doesn't stand a chance!_


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- April 29, 2006

"I categorically refuse to make anything that has C-H-E-E-S-E as one of its ingredients," Mariki announced, spelling the crucial word to keep from setting off the triplets, particularly Tobias. "I've seen more than enough C-H-E-E-S-E to last me the rest of this year, and I don't want to hear another word about it. Sorry if that bothers any of you, but that's the way it is." So saying, she departed without waiting for anyone's response.

Christian let out a laugh. "Frankly, that's probably for the best. Considering how much, uh, C-H-E-E-S-E the children have already eaten, it'll be a wonder if they have any lunch at all." He met Roarke's amused gaze. "Other than that, how are the fantasies coming along? I hope you haven't met up with any glitches."

"So far everything is going smoothly," Roarke said. "Mrs. Newbold seems to be doing very well without any further input from either me or Leslie; and the contestants are manufacturing product with great enthusiasm. It seems to be meeting with equal enthusiasm from our guests, for both restaurants have reported a smaller lunch crowd than usual. Jimmy has told me that in the hotel's case, that may be just as well. Some of the menus there have gone missing."

"Weird," said Leslie in surprise, in the midst of filling the triplets' plates. "Who'd steal restaurant menus?"

"You never know," Christian said wryly. "It takes all kinds, you know. If they need them replaced, I can do it myself as easily as anyone else. All it takes is the right set of computer fonts and a proper printer. By the way…my Rose, I've made a deal with the entrant from Lilla Jordsö. I introduced the children to _jordisk mysost_ this morning, and all three of them love it. It's exactly as I remember it from my days living there. So I've set up an arrangement to have him ship five kilograms of it to us each month."

"What's _mysost?"_ Leslie asked blankly.

"It's a sort of whey cheese, made all over Scandinavia. We use it as a spread for the most part, for breakfast and snacking purposes. I'll admit that for non-Scandinavians, it's an acquired taste. It starts out sweet, almost caramel-like, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste, which is why we always have coffee with it. If you'd like to try some, just let me know."

Leslie peered at him dubiously. "I don't know, I can't figure out from your description whether to give it a try or pass on it. Oh…hey, Father, look, there's Mrs. Newbold." At this statement, both men followed her gaze and watched Gladys Newbold striding determinedly along the lane; the woman saw them watching her and changed direction, crossing the porch to pause by the lunch table.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Newbold, may we help you with anything?" Roarke inquired.

"Well, maybe not at the moment, Mr. Roarke, but Ah really came here just to tell you that so far, Ah've been having just the nicest little ol' fantasy. Ah discouraged some tourists from throwin' pennies into that well in the town square—pollutes the water, y'see, not to mention wastin' perfectly good money. And Ah cannot _tell_ you how it irks me to see little children runnin' around with dirty faces. Ah grabbed a facecloth my very own self and cleaned them…made good and sure those little devils were bright and shiny as brand-new coins. Ah scolded some skateboardin' teenagers—Ah do declare, Ah simply _hate_ the way they scatter people left and right as if they own the whole place! Ah do believe Ah put them in their proper place, so you shouldn't have to worry about them for the rest of the weekend."

"I see," said Roarke, just slightly stunned. "Well…I thank you most sincerely for your efforts on our behalf."

"You're most welcome, Mr. Roarke, most welcome," Mrs. Newbold said, beaming. "And Ah promise Ah'll do all Ah can to make sure Ah leave this island a better place than Ah found it, you have my good word on that! Well, y'all, enjoy y'all's lunch." To Leslie's great relief, she finally departed, leaving them in peace.

Christian stared after her in amazement. "Is she for real?" he asked. "Incidentally, I'm not sure I understood half of what she said, because of that strange drawling dialect of hers."

Leslie sighed. "That's a deep-south accent you were hearing. She's from Georgia, see. In any case, there's no question but that she'll go right on 'fixing' all the things she thinks are wrong with this island and probably with society in general. Believe me, she's definitely for real. So are we having lunch or not?"

"No, Mommy," said Susanna suddenly, and Christian and Leslie both looked at their daughter to see her eyeing her plate doubtfully. "Aw done."

"You haven't even eaten yet," Christian said in disbelief.

"It's all the C-H-E-E-S-E they ate," Leslie reminded him wryly, and he rolled his eyes and grinned reluctantly. "Eat just a few bites, Susanna, that's all. Okay?"

"Aw done," Susanna insisted.

Roarke intervened, "I don't think it wise of you to force her, Leslie. Remember, you've had a great many occasions through the years on which you had no appetite, and no one was forcing you."

"Except Mariki and Mana'olana," she shot back, making him laugh. "Oh, all right. I guess it's okay this one time. They eat fine otherwise, and anyway, ch—uh, I mean, C-H-E-E-S-E is generally good for them, isn't it?"

"Generally," Christian agreed with a chuckle. "As for me, I can use a break from the endless variations of…" He hesitated, eyed the triplets, then said delicately, "…of the byproducts of sheep's, goats' and cows' milk." On the laughter that gained him, he grinned and reached for the tureen of gazpacho in the middle of the table. "I'd better hurry, I have an appointment with that client of mine to show him his finished website at two."

‡ ‡ ‡

Janelle had managed to procure some takeout lunch from the hotel restaurant for herself, George and Genia, and spent an hour or so carefully collecting cheese samples from the tables beside the main house. She made it a point to take wedges of all three of Paul's cheeses as well, before returning to the kitchen and clearing her throat loudly. By now George was hovering over a steaming pot, and Genia was standing nearby cradling a large bowl of the minced oysters George had prepared. "Ready for a break?" Janelle asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I could stand one." George dragged his forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead and studied the plate of cheese wedges Janelle presented him with. "Cripe sake, girl, you act like we didn't have lunch."

"You told me to get cheese samples from the competitors," Janelle reminded him with a slightly overdone air of wounded innocence. "So I did what you said."

George paused, peered at her and managed a tired smile. "Aw, you're a good kid," he said gruffly. "Suzanne raised you right." He gave Genia a sidewise look. "Now if she could've had some influence on Eugenia here…"

Genia wrinkled her nose. "Cryin' out loud, Dad, I've told you forty billion times not to call me by my full name. You know how much I hate it. Well, heck, as long as we're standing here, let's see what the competition tastes like."

For the next several minutes George and Genia stood there tasting cheese pieces, analyzing tastes the way oenophiles analyze wine, pronouncing sentence on each and every variety. Several met with grudging approval, many with scrunched noses and looks of disapproval and confidence in their impending win. Then Janelle pushed Paul's cheeses forward and urged them to try these; she watched, all but holding her breath, while George and Genia rolled bites around in their mouths. Nuts and Bolts met with mumbled "hmm" noises; Cheer Me Up got a similar reaction. "These are _good,"_ George said with open surprise, a worried look creeping into his eyes. "Really good."

Then Genia popped in a bite of Sunspots, and almost instantly her eyes went wide with shock. "Oh my God." She stood for a long twenty seconds, closing her eyes to better get the full flavor. George cast her a startled look and bit into a wedge himself.

Janelle watched, trying to keep a poker face, as George groaned, swallowed and mumbled a strong, heartfelt curse. "Damn…damn, this stuff is incredible."

Genia gaped at him in panic. "Dad, we've gotta beat this cheese. I can't believe how good this is. I don't know whose this is, but whoever it is, he's gonna give us a run for our money. Oh my God, we're in big, big trouble."

George stood for a moment, slowly eating the rest of his slice; then he closed his eyes, drew in a deep fortifying breath and threw his shoulders back and his chest out (which unfortunately helped to emphasize his thickening middle, Janelle noticed). "Okay, then, we just improve ours, that's all. Eugenia, go and get me the premium cream—the stuff you got in the town this morning."

"The entire carton?" Genia asked, too worked up to notice his use of her despised full first name. "That's half a gallon, Dad."

"The entire carton," George said pointedly, giving his daughter a look nobody could misread. "Right now, before we finish cooking this batch."

"Right." Genia scuttled off across the room, and George looked hard at Janelle, saying deliberately, "You did good, young lady. Now whose cheese is this?"

For a long moment Janelle was torn. She and Paul had dated steadily in their college days, and she'd discovered earlier that day when they'd met at the cheese tables that that old attraction between them still simmered. Yet she also remembered their breakup when she thought he was focusing too hard on what had happened to his family's cheesemaking enterprise a few years before and his vehement disagreement with her point of view. Not only that, there was family loyalty to consider. She let out a sigh through her nose and said in a small voice, "Paul Mahtonen."

As she had feared, George recognized the name. "Not the son of the guy your grandfather bought the company from."

"Yeah," Janelle admitted, her head hanging.

"Damn," said George again. "Eugenia's more right than she knows. Pop used to worry sometimes about that kid. Said he saw his expression the day the sale was finalized, and the kid vowed up and down that someday he was gonna be back, and either get his family's company back or drive us out of business. Damn, damn and double damn. Okay, listen…you cozy up to him, Janelle, you understand? Draw him out, find out what plans he's got in case he wins. Not that we're gonna let him." Grimly George started to turn back to the pot on the stovetop, then paused long enough to holler over his shoulder, "Eugenia, where's that cream? Come on, we've got cheese to make!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Genia yelled back, nearly dancing their way in her haste to get around other cheesemakers. "And for Pete's sake, quit calling me that!!" She ducked around Janelle and shoved the carton of cream into George's waiting hands. "Oh man, we are _soooooo_ in trouble. This is not good, not good at all."

George plunked the carton onto the worksurface and turned on her with exasperation. "Dammit, Eugenia, stop complaining! Get into town and see if you can find something I can add to this stuff to give it a special flavor. This is doubly urgent. That cheese we gotta beat? It's made by the son of the guy Pop bought the business from."

Genia whispered a curse. "On the double, Dad. I'm outta here." She fled the kitchen, and George pried open the carton and began slowly pouring cream into his concoction while Janelle stared at him, wondering why she felt as though she'd betrayed Paul.

‡ ‡ ‡

At the luau that evening, Roarke, Christian and Leslie stood together not far from the buffet, surveying the luau while Roarke and Leslie spoke to one or another guest from time to time. Christian had gone home long enough to bring back Ingrid to babysit the triplets, and as he understood it, she was supposed to have Jonathan Ichino over for a while to keep her company. He figured between the two of them, they should be able to handle the children, and have some extra time together as well.

Among the culinary highlights of tonight's luau was yet more of the cheese that was being featured in the contest; Christian was eyeing the choices, trying to figure out whether he felt like swallowing another morsel of the stuff, when a familiar young voice caught his attention. He saw Roarke and Leslie look around at the same time. "Hey, look, Mom, there's cheese here! Can we have some now? You wouldn't let me go to Uncle Roarke's to try it over there, and I want some."

"Okay, okay," sighed a harried female voice, and a couple of seconds later Julie and Rory Callaghan hove into view from behind a knot of laughing vacationers. "Oh, hi there, everybody. Sure is crowded here this evening."

"It's the cheese contest," Leslie said, watching Julie rake back her hair with both hands and stare at Rory filling a plate with all the cheese he could reach. "Wow, you've got a glutton on your hands. He's as bad as Tobias, if not worse."

"He's been insisting all day that either Rogan or I bring him over so he could sample all the cheese. You know kids, they all love cheese. Aren't you having any?" Julie asked.

Christian looked wearily at her. "Not anymore. I had samples of ten different cheeses at the preliminary showing today, and I'm so full of cheese I don't think I could stand to even look at it for the next three weeks. I'm glad our first order of _mysost_ doesn't arrive till the end of next week." At Julie's confused look, he explained what _mysost_ was, and she nodded, casting Rory another distracted glance. "Is something wrong?" Christian asked.

Julie heaved an enormous sigh. "My B&B is jam-packed with a family reunion, and I've been running around cooking and baking all day. I'm about ready to shut the place down, honestly. Maybe I should've had Rory come over and collect cheese from all the contestants—I had no idea there'd be that much. Would've saved me preparing tons of snacks for all those people. Say, uncle, when do you think I can have a vacation?"

Roarke chuckled. "That's entirely up to you, Julie. Perhaps you and Rogan had better discuss blocking off a week or two that has yet to be booked with guests, and decide on a place to go. Why don't you help yourself to some cheese, since you're here?"

"Hmm, don't mind if I do," Julie mused, perusing the array of cheeses, and picked up a plate, taking her time choosing. Meantime Rory stood nearby, munching happily on cheese, then blinking when he finished a slice that had a thick, bright-red rind.

"Ugh," he said, making a gremlin face at the leftover rind. "I hate crust." He slung it aside without bothering to look where it went, then picked up another slice while Leslie and Christian traded laughing looks and Roarke shook his head.

"Young man, Ah saw that!" boomed an imperious voice, and all heads in the vicinity turned to watch Gladys Newbold advance on a startled Rory, wrapped in a cloak of righteous wrath. "Didn't your momma teach you never, _never_ to litter? Only dirty slobs litter, you hear? You get over there and pick that up _immediately!"_ She pointed somewhere behind her, heedless of Rory's wide-eyed, almost terrified expression. "Really, the way people just hurl their trash around any ol' where! It's a _disgrace!_ Ah have never understood why people are too confounded _lazy_ to find the nearest trash bin and dispose of their garbage properly! Do they enjoy livin' in a garbage dump? It's an utter disgrace and a cryin' shame, I tell y'all! Hurry up, young man!" She physically prodded poor Rory, who almost dropped his plate in his scramble to locate and retrieve the discarded cheese rind.

"_Schnell, schnell,"_ muttered Leslie under her breath so that only Christian heard, making him snort, cough and then stare innocently into the star-spangled sky.

"Ma'am," Julie spoke up then, her face red with indignation, "I'll thank you not to take it upon yourself to discipline my son."

"So you're his momma?" Mrs. Newbold demanded. "The pure shame of it, you not tellin' that boy to go pick up his garbage!"

"Maybe if you hadn't swooped in here like some avenger from on high, I'd have had a chance to tell him myself," Julie retorted. "Now if you don't have a problem with minding your own business from here on out, I'll take over."

"Hmph! Parents these days, Ah do declare!" sniffed Mrs. Newbold, but took herself elsewhere. Christian, Leslie and Roarke looked at one another while Rory came back with his plate and the rind, half in tears, looking cowed. Julie comforted him, urged him to put the unwanted rind in the nearest trash barrel, then shot Roarke an apologetic look and let Rory refill his plate. They all noticed he ostentatiously avoided the cheese with the rind on it, and carefully hid their smiles before Julie bid them good evening and shepherded Rory away toward the edge of the clearing.

"Well, I see Mrs. Newbold's fantasy is still going strong," Leslie said at last, blowing out a breath. "Brother, she comes on like a steam shovel."

"More like a wrecking ball, in my opinion," Christian said, staring after the rapidly disappearing Gladys Newbold. "Undoubtedly she's off to look for someone else to scold. Do you think that woman's actually going to get any sleep tonight?"

Even Roarke laughed at that. "In her mind, Christian, she is merely doing her part to make the world a better place. Or at least, the island."

"She could be a little gentler about it," Christian said, frowning. Then his face cleared and he smiled a little. "Oh, hello there, Mr. Mahtonen."

Roarke and Leslie looked around; sure enough, there was an excited Paul Mahtonen, his face filled with an eager expression. "I just wanted to come and touch base," he said. "My cheese has been just disappearing like nobody's business. I've had all kinds of compliments on it—especially Sunspots. Seems that's the one that's gonna do it for me. Mr. Roarke, I can't thank you enough for letting me enter the contest and giving me such a great chance of winning. I think my dream is really gonna come true, finally."

"Of course," Roarke reminded him gently, "you have yet to actually win the competition, Mr. Mahtonen. But it's good that you are so positive about your chances."

Paul grinned. "And as if that wasn't enough, my old college girlfriend's turned up here on the island. We've got a dinner date—which, oh geez, I'm about to be late for. Just wanted to say thanks again." He tossed a wave at them and took off running.

"College girlfriend, huh?" Leslie said with interest. "Looks like another romance in the making. Really, this island does it every time."

Roarke chuckled faintly, but there was something troubled in his gaze as he watched Paul Mahtonen make his way out of the clearing. "There's more to it than mere coincidence, I'm afraid, my child."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- April 29, 2006

Paul kept checking his watch all the way to the hotel, where Janelle Frainey stood in the lobby waiting for him. "I'm so sorry," Paul said breathlessly the second he burst into the door. "I really didn't mean to be late—just wanted to talk to Mr. Roarke for a minute—"

"That's okay, don't worry about it," Janelle assured him with a smile. "It just helped whet my appetite. Let's go."

They walked to the pond restaurant and were seated in fairly short order. Perusing the menu, Janelle chuckled and remarked, "Boy, I'm sure glad not to see the word _cheese_ on this menu. I've had enough cheese for a month."

"Yeah?" Paul peered at her over the top of his menu, looking faintly surprised. "You were sampling as much of it as anybody else this morning."

Janelle shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, well, I guess I ate too much of it. I'm kinda burned out on cheese right now."

Paul studied her as if he couldn't understand why, then made a dismissive face and went back to scanning the menu. "So what've you been doing since college?"

"Mostly working," Janelle said. "I'm a receptionist." She didn't bother to add that her position was with the cheese company her grandfather had bought from Paul's father. There was a hunk of guilt growing and hardening in her gut with every passing moment; even in college she had known who Paul was, though he had never discovered her connection with the Prentice family that had taken his father's livelihood from him. "I was married for a couple of years in my late twenties, but it didn't work out and we got divorced. You?"

She was relieved when Paul seemed to let her distract him. "Nah, never did find the right woman. Maybe I didn't have enough time. Too busy perfecting my cheese recipes."

_Back to cheese again,_ Janelle thought with a repressed sigh. Well, George had told her to draw Paul out, after all; and anyway, she was curious. "So you really think you're gonna win this contest, huh?"

Paul laid the menu down and gave her his full attention, a serious gleam in his eyes. "Yeah—it's my fantasy. I specifically asked Mr. Roarke for this fantasy, to win the contest. I want to get the money to get back my family's reason for being."

Janelle felt her mouth drop open. "You mean, you live to make cheese, and that's all? I guess it shouldn't surprise me you've never married. You still sound obsessed."

Paul shook his head, his face seeming to harden. "You just don't understand, Janelle. We had this same problem in college…I remember now."

She broke her gaze and swallowed, reaching for her water glass. "I'm sorry, Paul. I, uh, I'd like to know, though. If Mr. Roarke does fulfill your fantasy and you win the contest and get the business back…then what'll you do?"

"Nurture it," Paul said immediately, his face already lighting up. "Bring it back to what it used to be when my ancestors came over from Finland all those years ago. Build it up, get a good solid clientele, and develop new gourmet cheeses. And when it's making money and I've reestablished the Mahtonen name in the cheesemaking world, I'll be able to start realizing some of my other goals in life." He smiled. "Like getting married, finally."

"Huh, I see," murmured Janelle. "So this thing really is your whole life."

Paul stared at her. "Are you passing judgment again, Janelle? I thought I made it clear to you back in college how important this is to me. I'm not just doing it for myself, I'm doing it for my father, for my family."

Janelle protested, "But your father's dead, Paul. How's he going to know what you're trying to do on his behalf? Are you expecting him to rise up out of the grave and join you in your cheesemaking enterprise?" She saw the shock on his face and realized she'd gone too far. "Oh, dammit, me and my big mouth. Never mind, Paul…it was good seeing you again, anyway. Best of luck in the contest." She got up and rushed out of the restaurant without looking back, leaving him sitting there gaping after her and blinking slowly.

She ran almost all the way back to the hotel, slowing only when she got onto the grounds and saw other people headed in the same direction. One of them, it turned out, was Leslie Enstad, just coming out of the lobby door. "Hi, Janelle," Leslie said. "Are you okay? You seem out of breath."

"Yeah, well…say, listen, is the Saturday-night luau on? I could really use something to eat," Janelle said, seizing on the idea. She was hungry, but she didn't want to eat with Paul and risk hurting him any further over his life's goal.

"Oh, sure. Go right ahead," Leslie said. "Just down that way." She pointed down a trail that vanished into the jungle. "Enjoy—there's plenty of eats."

"Great." Janelle smiled at her and hurried away. Leslie watched her go for a moment, certain there was more to Janelle Frainey's demeanor than she had let on, but deciding there was no point in pursuing it. If Janelle needed advice badly enough, she'd probably seek out either her or Roarke later on.

Christian came out after a few more seconds and joined her. "Jimmy said the missing menus mysteriously reappeared shortly before the dinner hour," he remarked as they began to stroll across the grounds, their destination the main house. "There are definitely some strange things happening here this weekend…more so than normally, anyhow."

Leslie laughed. "Around here, if anything's normal, it's considered weird," she kidded. "You and I might as well take it easy for the rest of the evening and send Jonathan on home. Father said he'll be at the luau for another hour or so and then he's coming back."

"Well enough," Christian agreed. "I think I need to find something to address my gastrointestinal distress." At her questioning look, he gave her a twisted little smile. "I've never eaten so much cheese at one time in all my life. Apparently either it turns out not to be so good for me, or else I'm too old to handle such a large amount."

"Oh, come on, you're still on the low side of fifty. Isn't it a little soon to be lamenting the aging process?" Leslie teased him.

"You forget, my Rose, it won't be long before the 'low side of fifty' is a memory for me. I'll be forty-eight in another couple of months, and I'm starting to notice odd little glitches in my system that never happened to me before. All I can do is conclude that it's a result of getting older—all the annoying twitches and hiccups that accompany one's advance into middle age. No," he said, lifting a hand when she opened her mouth to protest, "don't argue with me, Leslie, you have to face it. I _am_ approaching middle age. Don't look so panicky. Middle age doesn't mean death is standing on my doorstep. It just means I'd better have a medical checkup and find out if I need to change any of my usual habits, that's all."

She sighed. "Okay, my love, whatever you say. But it's a little scary to hear you talking like that. I hope you're planning to stick around and see the triplets into their adulthood at least…"

Christian snorted aloud. "No one's going to rob me of seeing my children grow up if I can help it. Now can we please talk about something else, before you start worrying that I'm planning my full retirement and getting ready to make out my will?"

"Okay, okay," she said and laughed. "Oh—I told Mariki I'd double-check in the kitchen to be sure everything's there that should be there." She caught his look and rolled her eyes. "I know, it's ridiculous, but you know how Mariki is about her personal domain. Anyway, I'll meet you in my old room."

"All right," Christian agreed, and they moved in different directions down the veranda: Christian to the front door, Leslie toward the kitchen entrance. Things were quiet as she eased the door open, but when she slipped inside and closed it softly, she saw a faint light in a corner and realized someone was here after all.

"Mariki?" she called out.

In response there was a quick, glassy _splat_ and a couple of tinkles, then silence. Leslie followed the glow in the far corner of the kitchen and discovered not Mariki there, but a stranger. The only light came from the bulb in the hood over the stove where Mariki always prepared their meals. There was a large, shiny Dutch oven on one of the burners, and hovering over it was a youngish woman with long, unruly dark curls. In the light Leslie could see her eyes, wide and glistening, her mouth open, her body frozen as if she had been caught in the act of preparing to flee.

Recognizing her as Genia Prentice and attempting to put her at ease, Leslie inquired, "Are you okay? Anything I can do for you? You're here pretty late."

Genia relaxed a little and smiled quickly, peered into her pot and then grinned, looking sheepish. "Oh, that's okay, Mrs. Enstad. Thanks for asking." She suddenly tensed as Leslie moved a little closer. "Oh, be careful…I dropped that by accident and it's broken."

Leslie looked down at the floor; sure enough, the light glinted off the remains of what appeared to have been a small vial, with a few jagged shards still attached to a silver screw-on cap. "I hope there wasn't anything in it that you needed."

"No, I'd just emptied it," Genia said nervously. "I'll clean it up, don't worry. As soon as I do, I'll pour this into a mold and get out of here for the night." She made an odd-looking attempt at a grin. "I'm here because…this was a, uh, a special secret ingredient, and I didn't want anybody hanging over my shoulder trying to see what it was. You know how that is. Some people will do anything to win a contest."

"I guess so," said Leslie, remembering the cooking and wine-tasting contests the year she was fourteen. Subsequent wine contests had been much more refined and civilized, she recalled, and Roarke had decided to stop holding cooking contests after that last one had devolved into a food fight. "Well, if you're sure. Just lock the door behind you when you go, okay? Our cook has a thing about that."

Genia nodded vigorously. "Oh, no problem. Thanks, Mrs. Enstad."

"Sure. Good night," said Leslie and left the kitchen by the door into the hallway that led to Roarke's study. She thought Genia had seemed a little unnerved, but attributed it to a combination of contest nerves and being alone in the kitchen after dark.

She met Christian upstairs; he was standing in front of the bathroom sink, examining the back of a bottle of pink liquid. "I thought you were done," she said quizzically.

Christian looked up and shrugged. "I'm just trying to find out exactly what this is supposed to do. I'm used to _jordiska_ medications. The only thing I've had any reason to take since leaving there is aspirin."

"Hm, let me see." Leslie took the bottle from him and scanned the instructions. "Do you have indigestion, then? That's what this is for."

"It's supposed to settle the stomach?" he hedged, trying to clarify.

"Uh-huh." Leslie handed the bottle back and smiled. "Go ahead. It might not taste all that wonderful, but it won't hurt you."

Christian huffed briefly with amusement and shrugged again. "Well, all right, if you say so." He twisted the top off the bottle, poured a quantity into a small plastic cup and met his own gaze in the mirror. _"Skål,_ Christian," he toasted himself and knocked the stuff back in one hurried gulp. When he set it down again, his face looked as if someone had tried to stuff it into a pillbox. _"Herregud!"_

"Wash it down with something if it's that bad," Leslie advised him, laughing. "Come on, my love, I think you'll feel better once we get to bed."

Muttering in _jordiska_, Christian filled a glass with water and drank the whole thing straight down without stopping, then followed her into her old room and began to strip off his clothing. "Ours," he said finally, pulling on his accustomed pajama pants, "tastes far better than that."

Leslie giggled. "Don't be smug, Christian," she admonished playfully. "Let's get some sleep. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."

§ § § -- April 30, 2006

They met at breakfast, as always, and Leslie and Roarke both noticed Christian helping himself to a generous amount of scrambled eggs. "You seem to have recovered from your abdominal problems," Roarke remarked humorously.

"That stuff must have worked," Leslie agreed, watching Christian with a grin.

"Oh, that awful pink medicine? Yes, it tasted like something you'd find in a barnyard, but it worked wonders. I feel back to normal. Now if I can keep from eating too much…" He glanced at the triplets, who seemed to be content stuffing their small faces with dry oat cereal circles, and grinned. "…well, too much of that stuff they're going to be judging today, I should be just fine."

"The secret most likely is in the quantity you take in, Christian," Roarke said, still looking amused. "I suspect you simply had too much of a good thing."

"Then why didn't the children suffer the same effects I did?" Christian complained mildly. "They ate far more than I did, the little gluttons. They should have been sick little puppies all last night, but not one of them had the slightest ill effect."

"Because they didn't eat much lunch yesterday, and had a proper supper," Leslie said. "All you did was pick at the luau buffet last night. Could you pass me the eggs, please?"

Toward the end of the meal, Paul Mahtonen appeared from seemingly nowhere, wandering down the lane as if unsure of his destination, occasionally kicking up puffs of dust as he scuffed his shoes through the loose dirt. When he reached the fountain he looked up and around, spotted Roarke and the Enstads beginning to wind up breakfast, and picked up his pace, trotting onto the porch and approaching them. "I hope I'm not barging in," he said questioningly, surveying the table.

"No, not at all, Mr. Mahtonen," said Roarke with a smile. "Good morning, how can we help you?"

"I was just kind of wondering…" Paul began, then checked himself and shook his head. "No, I guess I should be honest. You'll remember last night I left the luau in a hurry because I was about to be late for a dinner date with Janelle Frainey." Roarke and Leslie both nodded, and he went on, "Well, that didn't turn out so well. We kind of had a little dustup over my hopes to get the company back, and she walked out on me."

"I'm sorry," Leslie said sympathetically.

"Why would this be a point of contention between you?" Roarke inquired.

"We dated in college," Paul explained. "From the day I found out Dad was gonna have to sell the company, I was determined to find some way to get it back. Have been ever since then, see. I've always had grand plans. I created my contest entries with this in mind, and I've been doing it since Dad passed. It's been my whole life, I guess. All I wanted was to get the company back into the family fold, so we'd have something to be proud of again.

"But Janelle always thought I was obsessed. She didn't see it the same way I did, and just before we broke up, she asked me which I loved more—her or the company. At the time I had no intention of letting anybody get in the way of my ambitions, so I told her if she was gonna make me choose, then I chose my plans. So we went our separate ways.

"Well, that was fifteen, sixteen years ago. We met up in the yard over there yesterday, and set up this dinner date, and started talking about what we'd been doing since we graduated from college. I told her my reasons for being here, and it wound back down to the same old bone of contention. She still thinks I'm obsessed." He paused a moment, scratched his head, then looked at Roarke. "And you know, I'm starting to think maybe she's right."

"Oh?" Roarke said, looking at him askance. "But your fantasy centers around that very goal, Mr. Mahtonen, does it not? You told me you want to win the contest so that you'll have the means to buy the company from its current owners."

"Yeah…yeah, I still want that, don't get me wrong. It's just that…" He cleared his throat, then sighed and murmured, "Well, my reasons have changed." He seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but when he looked up he saw that Roarke and Leslie were both merely watching him with neutral expressions. Christian, too, had paused, and even the triplets were staring at him as if waiting. "See, it's something Janelle said. She said…she asked me if I was expecting my father to be resurrected from the dead and join me when I got the company back."

"Oh," said Leslie, blinking in amazement. Christian murmured something startled-sounding in his native tongue and promptly took another bite of eggs.

"So you were doing this solely for your father's sake," Roarke said. "And now that you've had a chance to look back on your life since the end of your college relationship with Miss Frainey, you've begun to see that perhaps she's right after all."

"Maybe…" Paul began, hitched his shoulders up and squeezed his eyes closed, then blurted in a low voice, "Maybe I should just give up."

"Oh no, no, Mr. Mahtonen," Roarke said gently. "No, that isn't the answer either. The goal is admirable, and Miss Frainey has no argument with that. What she takes issue with is your _reason_ for doing so. It's fine to honor your father's memory, Mr. Mahtonen, but when you devote your entire life and its work solely to please someone who is no longer around to appreciate your efforts, perhaps it's time to reconsider what drives you."

Paul opened his eyes and stared at Roarke for what must have been a good thirty seconds; his face looked static, but Roarke could see the emotional changes that were taking place under the surface, the new direction of Paul's thoughts, and smiled after a little while. "If you explain it to Miss Frainey, I'm sure she will understand. And perhaps this time…"

"Maybe we could make it work," Paul said, almost inaudibly. His face gradually started to light up as the idea sank in. "Yeah, you know, it could work!" He grinned broadly. "Thanks, Mr. Roarke, thanks so much." He tipped his wrist to check his watch. "It's a little early to bother her now, but I'll get ahold of her later on. I really need to make sure my contest cheeses are ready to go."

"Teeze man!" Tobias suddenly yelled in delight, pointing at Paul, his face glowing and his body nearly in a standing position in his high chair. Both Christian and Leslie lunged for him to make him sit back down. "Ampa, teeze man!"

Roarke began to chuckle, and Paul burst out laughing. "Yes, Tobias, that's the cheese man," Roarke agreed. "You remember him from yesterday, then, huh?"

"Yummy teeze man," Tobias said, nodding his head so hard his hair slid back and forth over his scalp and Leslie was convinced he would give himself a headache. "Teeze, peeze? Me teeze, Mommy? Teeze man." He pointed at Paul again.

"Breakfast first, Tobias Lukas Roarke Enstad," Leslie announced firmly. "If you eat your breakfast, then maybe the nice cheese man will let you have some of his cheese. But not if you don't eat this." She pointed at her son's plate.

"What on earth made him blow up like that all of a sudden?" Paul asked, still laughing and clamping his hands against his sides. "He was docile as a deer, and then all of a sudden he just went crazy."

"You said the magic word, I'm afraid," Christian explained a little wearily. "They all love the stuff, but Tobias especially would do just about anything for it."

"The magic word?—oh, you mean ch—" Paul began, only to be cut off by a frantic duo of _SHHHHH!!_ from the child's parents.

"Please," Leslie begged. "Spell it."

"Oh, right. Tell you what, I'll save some of my C-H-E-E-S-E for him after the contest," Paul offered. "As long as it's okay with you and His Highness."

"I don't think we have much choice," Christian muttered, and Paul started to laugh all over again. Through his mirth he thanked Roarke once more, excused himself and left the porch, still chortling.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- April 30, 2006

The judging was to begin at four o'clock that afternoon, so the level of activity in the side yard had shifted into a frenzy of contestants rushing back and forth with new and aged cheeses alike, bringing out their best and trying to dream up attractive arrangements for the presentation. Genia and George Prentice had finally decided their oyster-flavored Love Me, Love My Cheese creation was as ready as it would ever be, and now were standing at the end of the last table in line, practically in a corner of the yard, arguing over what flowers would look good encircling the cheese on its plate like a tropical wreath.

"Roses would be better," Genia was saying.

"No, for cryin' out loud, get some of those lilies. Makes a better theme," George said with disgust. "Who ever heard of a combination of roses and cheese?"

"Oh yeah? And what've lilies got to do with cheese?" Genia sneered back.

George pinned her with a glare. "Watch your tone, Eugenia Carolyn Prentice! For your info, some lilies grow in water. Oysters come from water. So there's your connection. Now go get the cheese, so we can finish up over here and make sure we've got enough samples for people to try."

"I made two," Genia said sullenly. "One for the contest and one for the samples."

"Fine, so go get them," George said, exasperated, and Genia stalked off. Spotting a few native girls passing by in the lane, George abandoned his station for a moment to chase them down and ask them about procuring lilies. He passed Gladys Newbold, who had decided she could afford to indulge in a little early-afternoon snack and was inching her way down each table in turn, carefully scrutinizing every single cheese on them.

She reached out for a slice of a blue-veined cheese and asked the teenage attendant there, "Young man, is this a good cheese?" There was no reply and she focused on the boy, who was heavily engrossed in a game of video solitaire on his laptop. Mrs. Newbold banged a fist on the tabletop, startling the hapless teen into looking up at her. "Pay _attention_ when someone asks you something! Ah just asked you if this is a good cheese!"

"It's delicious, ma'am," the boy assured her, sounding a little stunned.

"Ah should surely hope so, after all the trouble Ah just went through to get an answer out o' you," Mrs. Newbold remarked irritably and took a small, delicate bite. "Matter of fact, this is very good, you're right. But your manners are positively _tacky_. If you want anyone to buy any of your cheese while you're here, you better straighten up and be polite! Ah do declare, _teenagers_ these days!" She wandered off in a huff, leaving the teenager peering warily after her with an expression that suggested he thought she was certifiable. Leslie, at the second table in line with Christian at her side, couldn't blame him; she had seen the entire altercation and wondered when Mrs. Newbold's fantasy was finally going to turn topsy-turvy on her, as they almost always did here.

"Our friend Mrs. Newbold again, I see," Christian observed, amused, watching the woman edge along the table, filching a slice of cheese here and there.

"I just noticed something," Leslie realized suddenly. "It's been picking at the back of my mind all weekend. She's been focusing on young people. Not adults, just kids and teenagers. If parents are involved, she'll jump on their case too, but when she picks her nits, they always involve minors. Wonder what's with her anyway?"

"I'm sure Mr. Roarke will handle her eventually, in his own subtle way," Christian assured her with a chuckle. "I think we tried all these cheeses yesterday. Let's go to the back tables and see what we can find there."

"I hope you're not overdoing it," Leslie cautioned him.

"I've tried only one so far," Christian replied, grinning at her. "I'm saving room for what we haven't sampled yet." She rolled her eyes, and he laughed and took her hand, playfully tugging her after him to the sixth table. They arrived just as Genia Prentice returned, staggering slightly under two very fat wheels of cheese in which they could see strange-looking pinkish-gray specks.

"Hi," said Leslie. "Looks like your special cheese is ready to go."

"You bet," Genia said with a smirk, letting the wheels fall with heavy thuds onto the table area she and George had been assigned. "This one on the bottom's for the contest, but you want to try some? We call it Love Me, Love My Cheese."

Christian laughed. "Who could resist a name like that? All right, I'll try some."

"Great—oh my God, Prince Christian!" Genia finally recognized him and stood in motionless shock for a second or two, then presented the resignedly amused prince with a clumsy curtsy, her face reddening rapidly. "I didn't even realize it was you, Your Highness."

"And I was enjoying it, too," Christian kidded, grinning. "Please, don't worry about formalities. Just cut me a slice of that cheese. It smells delicious. What's in it?"

"Oysters," Genia said proudly. "That's why it has the name it does."

Christian and Leslie stared at her for a moment; then Christian snickered. "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say. Bring it on."

Genia dug a knife into one of the cheese wheels and carved out a wedge about an inch thick, which she presented to Christian. "Here you go, Your Highness, enjoy. How about you, Mrs. Enstad, want to try some?"

"Uh…no, but thanks anyway," Leslie said weakly, watching in disbelief as Christian bit into the cheese. "I'm not the cheese nut my husband and kids are."

Genia seemed magnanimous. "Oh, that's okay. Thanks for trying it, Your Highness." Christian made an acknowledging noise through his mouthful of cheese, and tossed her a wave, turning away with a very dubious Leslie at his side.

"How in the world can you stand that?" she asked in low tones, staring at him. "I mean, oysters in cheese? It sounds disgusting!"

"It wouldn't be my first choice, but it's not the worst thing I ever tasted either," mused Christian, then swallowed. "It's certainly a novelty, I'll say that." Then he paused, stood still and stared into space while Leslie eyed him with increasing trepidation, before his hazel eyes snapped wide open and locked with hers. A second later, an expression Leslie knew all too well stole over his face and he drew her in close. "You know, my Rose, I think I've had enough cheese for today. Since Ingrid's here with the triplets, and no one else is expecting us, suppose we slip away from here and steal a couple of hours together in that little secluded lagoon you showed me, the first time we ever made love?"

Thoroughly confused, Leslie gawked at him. "Christian, what's with you all of a sudden? Where did this come from?"

"Does it matter?" he asked low, smiling at her in that way that rarely failed to set off a reaction low in her gut. She felt it again now, really wanted to give in to it, but couldn't reconcile her bewilderment over this abrupt urge he'd gotten. "Come on, let's go." He put the rest of his cheese wedge onto the edge of the table behind her; his motion caught her attention and she suddenly made the connection.

"Oysters, huh?" she remarked and began to grin, eyeing him. "I guess they really are all they're cracked up to be, if they're doing this to you. Maybe if we leave now, nobody'll notice we're gone, at least till it's too late."

"Ah, that's the spirit, my darling." He smiled again, then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply, till her head started to spin.

"Ah declare, that is just the _tackiest_ thing Ah _evuh_ did see!" shrilled a now-all-too-familiar voice, breaking them apart. Gladys Newbold stood a few feet away, a piece of cheese in one hand and both wrists propped onto her hips, her face alive with offended indignation. "The two of y'all really should be _ashamed_ of y'all's selves, committing PDAs like that right here in the middle of a crowd! Actin' like a pair of shameful _teenagers_, for pity's sake! And you, young lady, bein' Mr. Roarke's assistant…even _more_ disgraceful!"

Christian, eyebrow long since having strained toward his hairline, lost his patience. "Excuse me, Mrs. Newbold, but as you know, Leslie and I are married and have been for some time now. Perhaps, just once, no matter how much you disapprove of someone else's actions, you might consider keeping your mouth shut and minding your own business, before someone takes it into his mind to try pointing out all of _your_ petty faults!" He waited just long enough for Mrs. Newbold's mouth to drop with outrage, then nodded once and turned away, smiling at Leslie again. "Let's go, my Rose, there are too many people here."

"Sounds great to me," she agreed, still a little confused as to what had brought on his suddenly amorous mood, but no longer willing to pursue the point. They linked hands and appropriated a jeep that sat waiting in the lane, and Leslie took the wheel, looking forward to recreating the first time she and Christian had finally made love, late in his forced marriage to Marina LiSciola. _Only this time we can see each other for a change,_ she thought and smirked to herself.

"Oh, by the way…what's PDA?" Christian asked curiously, and she burst into guffaws as she started the vehicle and explained it to him on the way up the lane.

Within a few minutes of their departure, Roarke emerged from the main house to get a look at the growing crowd and the escalating activity in the side yard. He paused at the foot of the porch steps, smiling at the mostly controlled chaos taking place, then spotted Gladys Newbold making a beeline for him and straightened up, watching her with interest. "May I help you, Mrs. Newbold?" he inquired courteously.

"Mr. Roarke, it's a pure _disgrace!"_ she stormed, her face crimson with leftover outrage at Christian's parting shot to her. "You should've just now seen it…your own daughter, your own _assistant_ for pity's sake, and her…her _paramour_ smooching for all the world to see, right here in your very own yard! Surely you plan to do something about that?"

"Her paramour?" Roarke echoed, astonished. It had been a long time since he'd heard anyone use that word, and in fact he'd started to believe no one even knew it anymore.

"Now Ah must say, Ah'm grateful to you for grantin' my humble little ol' fantasy, and Ah'll still recommend your island to all my friends. But before any of them set foot here, Ah surely, surely hope you will _discipline_ that child for her shameful display. She really should remember that she's a host here as much as you are, and she needs to conduct herself with the dignity required of her position. But no, there she was, just like some foolish little ol' honeymooner, kissing that young man for all he was worth and _then_ some! Ah do hope you'll address the problem, Mr. Roarke. It could prove to be purely embarrassin' for you, and Ah'd surely _hate_ to have that happen to you." She smiled then, having apparently spent her outrage over Christian's and Leslie's "shameful display", and even patted him on the cheek before taking her leave. Roarke stared after her for a moment, then shook his head and began to chuckle despite himself. Sooner or later she was going to run into someone who wouldn't put up with her noisy fussing; and if she didn't, he'd just have to arrange for it to happen.

He remained there on the sidelines, casually observing, noting Paul Mahtonen now in the thick of the crowd, setting up his cheeses on plates that were mounted on a three-tiered silver stand. He had just enough time to decide he approved of Paul's simple, unadorned arrangement, when one of the judges paused beside him to ask a question and his attention was distracted. Just then Janelle Frainey slipped by him and hurried around the front table, aiming for her cousin who stood behind her enormous cheese wheels trying to coax people into sampling the cheese before the competition officially got under way.

"Where's Uncle George?" Janelle asked, seeing that Genia was alone.

"Looking for lilies," Genia said, rolling her eyes. "I told him roses would've looked a lot better, but he said there's a connection—water lilies, oysters coming from the water. Sounds stupid to me, but what do I know?" She threw her hands up in disgust and eyed the cheese wheel, which still had only a couple of slices missing from it. "You know, I'm having a terrible time trying to get people to taste this."

"Doesn't that tell you anything?" Janelle asked pointedly.

Genia gave her a disgusted look. "Thought you were on our side. Sometimes I really wonder about you, Jan. Do me a favor and man the station, will you? I'm gonna see if I can find out what the heck happened to Dad." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried off, leaving Janelle contemplating the cheese. _It might look pretty appetizing,_ she ruminated, _if it weren't for those ugly little gray oyster specks in there…_

"Hi, Janelle," said a soft, hopeful masculine voice behind her, and she froze up inside, feeling her stomach start to dance with both anticipation and nerves. She turned and eyed Paul, who stood there with a hopeful expression on his face.

"Hi, Paul," she said warily. "What brings you over here?"

"Uh…I, uh, thought maybe we could talk a little bit," he said. "If you don't mind."

"I guess so," Janelle conceded, though privately she wasn't convinced that was such a good idea, considering what had happened at the pond restaurant the previous evening. "Uh, how's your cheese coming along?"

"Fine," he said dismissively. "Janelle…this isn't about that. Well, not directly. I, uh, I had an epiphany last night, you could say."

She peered at him oddly. "Of what kind?"

"It has to do with what you said last night at the restaurant," Paul began, and her flinch must have been visible, for he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. "No, no, hear me out. I thought about what you said for a long time. Tossed and turned half the night last night thinking about it. And you know something, you were right. I guess I was unconsciously doing all this for the sake of Dad's memory. Everything I did, I realize now I was always thinking to myself, _Dad would be proud, Dad would want me to do this._ Maybe he would have, but that doesn't matter anymore. I'm doing this because it's what _I _want to do. I've wanted to make cheese since I was a little kid watching Dad and Grandpa doing it. I really have had this ambition all my life. It's just that it got kinda skewed when I was sixteen and Dad had to sell the business."

Janelle had been watching him with slowly growing hope all this while. "Wow, Paul. I was really angry with myself for what I'd said to you. I mean, it's not really my business what your life goals are, you know?"

"Who says?" Paul inquired and smiled at her. "Why couldn't it be?" Letting that percolate in Janelle's head for a minute or two, he glanced behind her and spied Genia's cheese. "Wow, that's a lot of cheese. Looks interesting." He stepped around Janelle and deftly sliced off a piece before she could object, popping it into his mouth. "Hmm…different. Not too bad…definitely different." He swallowed and shrugged. "I don't think I'd have put…" All of a sudden he stopped; his eyes widened, then focused on Janelle and went soft and glistening. "You know, Janelle, I've really missed you since our college days."

She blinked at him in amazement. "You have?"

"Yeah." He smiled, reached out and touched her cheek with a fingertip. "Maybe that's another reason I never got married. I guess I never quite got over you." He seemed unaware that Janelle was frozen in place, gaping at him, wondering at his odd change in attitude. "Say, you think we could try dinner out again, this evening? Really talk? About things other than cheese? Like maybe…you and me, and our future together…"

"Oh my God," mumbled Janelle, flabbergasted. "Well, uh…why don't we wait till after the contest is over, and then we'll see…"

"We're back!" trilled a feminine voice, and they both looked around to see George and Genia returning, George with an armful of pale-lavender lilies. "How'd it go, cousin?"

"Cousin?" Paul repeated ominously, and once more Janelle felt her stomach begin to trip the light fantastic—but from fear and horror this time. There was no mistaking the look of recognition on his face as he stood there staring at Genia, then George. He turned on her then, his eyes narrowing. "Why did she call you that?"

Janelle's mouth opened, but she couldn't seem to form any words. Genia, however, seemed more than glad to step into the breach. "Because we _are_ cousins. Don't tell me you had no idea! She works as our receptionist."

"Genia," Janelle growled, glaring at her.

"I should've known," Paul muttered, clearly furious. "George Prentice…son of Lewis Prentice, who snapped up our business right out from under my father and gloated about getting such a bargain from a sick old man who had no other choice." He slammed one fist into the other palm. "And I guess now you're going to stand there and tell me you didn't know I was competing in this thing, did you?"

"We didn't," George said evenly, "till my niece brought us samples of some of your cheese, and she told us who made them."

"Your niece!" Paul rounded on Janelle, who shrank back a little in spite of herself. "All this time you must've known who I was—all the way back to our college days, huh? And you never once told me!"

"I didn't want to ruin what we had!" Janelle cried.

"You _ended_ what we had after you made me choose between you or my dreams, don't you remember?" Paul sneered at her. "You went ahead and ruined things for us anyway, so don't give me that crap. So that's the real story, is it?" He shot a last glare at George, then at Genia, and finally back at Janelle. "Forget dinner. Forget talking. Forget everything. It's really over this time, Janelle—for good." He spun on one foot and strode away.

"Hey, kid, you scared of the truth?" George demanded, not taunting but just angry. Paul stopped and whipped back around to glare at him. "You've really got your memory messed up after all these years. My father never once gloated about buying your dad's business. Juhani Mahtonen was sad about selling it, but he was resigned. He knew it was the only answer without seeing the whole thing crash and burn under his stewardship. He told my father that he hoped Pop could save the business, turn it around and get it back in the black. And that's exactly what Pop did. He was grateful to Mahtonen for the rest of his life for what he did, and he knew what a blow it was to him. I was there, so I know. Pop died wishing there'd been some way he could have honored your father. And you know what, kid?" George advanced on a shocked yet still-skeptical Paul, his head beaded with sweat from exertion and now emotion. "He said the only blight on the whole transaction was you. Mr. Bitter. Mr. Put-the-Blame-on-Everybody-Else. Apparently your dad never told you the other side of the story. Either that, or you just wouldn't listen."

"That wouldn't surprise me very much," Janelle snapped, catching Paul's attention. "I'm just plain fed up, Paul. Don't come near me anymore, you got it? You've been running hot and cold all weekend. You're the one who wanted last night's dinner date, and then you put up your hackles when I started asking questions you didn't like. I left the restaurant so I wouldn't hurt you any more than I already had. Then you come over here and apologize, and go so far as to suggest you might be interested in getting back together—till you find out whose family I belong to, and then suddenly I'm the equivalent of monkey brains for supper. Fine, Paul, go ahead and nurse your bitterness over what you think happened. But don't bother me anymore. Just leave me alone from now on, you understand?"

"Hey, Jan, wait…" Genia began, sounding stunned.

"I don't want to talk to anyone right now, Genia, okay? If you want to do something nice for me, then for crying out loud, keep Dr. Jekyll here away from me." With that Janelle fled the yard, leaving Paul, George and Genia all gaping after her.

George finally broke the silence with a loud disgusted release of breath. "Get lost, kid, and mind your own business, instead of hankering after mine." He turned his back on Paul and began to arrange the lilies around the second, untouched wheel of cheese, while Genia stood watching Paul drift dazedly away from their station, frowning in perplexity.

George noticed after a minute. "Problem?"

Genia blinked and quickly shook her head. "No, I…no, nothing. So, uh, where'd you end up getting the lilies, anyway, Dad?"


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- April 30, 2006

Paul returned to his own station and stood there staring at his little cheese display, his mind going over and over George's and then Janelle's words. George was right; Paul could remember his presence at the final sale of Mahtonen Cheese Company, although he himself had only been watching through a window and couldn't hear the actual words. It had been too painful to go in and be full witness, yet he hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the end of his family's reason for existence.

Reason for existence? Paul scowled at the phrase, at the cheese that sat waiting to be judged, wondering whether he might not have actually wasted the last twenty-one years lusting after something that had always been out of his reach. He'd told Janelle the truth a few minutes ago: he really had missed her since college, but had never dreamed she was anywhere within his vicinity. It amazed him to realize that she'd been right there in Marquette all this time, working for the Prentices. _I just wish she'd told me she was related to them, right from the start,_ he mused unhappily. Even as the thought crossed his mind, though, he found himself wondering whether things would have been any different between them. Considering his point of view since the sale of the business, he supposed the only difference would have been that their relationship would have ended much sooner.

With his rage and bitterness subsiding and eroding, he found his mind harping on Janelle, on the furious, wounded look on her face as she told him off and then ran out of the yard. He could understand why she thought he'd been "running hot and cold"; particularly in the last few moments, he'd really been leading her on. What had happened to him to make him voice his innermost wishes like that? He thought carefully back over those few moments, from the time he'd approached Janelle to the second George and Genia had come onto the scene, and realized that once he'd swallowed that slice of cheese with the oysters in it, some weird sensation had come over him and he had been completely unable to resist it. It had loosened his tongue almost to the point that it might have fallen out if the Prentices hadn't shown up. _What the heck is in that cheese?_ he wondered, and risked a glance over his shoulder at the Prentice station. Then he remembered the uncompleted statement he'd started to make to Janelle: _"I don't think I'd have put oysters in it, though."_

"Oyster cheese?" Paul muttered aloud. It hadn't actually been too bad, at least in his opinion, but he certainly never would have thought to put oysters in cheese. It just sounded too bizarre to him. Once more he peered over his shoulder, then found himself watching as a young couple accepted slices of cheese from a beaming Genia and sampled them. To his amazement, within seconds the twosome turned to each other and indulged in a hot and heavy clinch, right there in front of everyone in the yard. _Weird!_ he thought, averting his attention before Genia or George saw him staring. Apparently they grew some really potent oysters on Fantasy Island. He chuckled to himself and tried to concentrate on the judging, which was due to begin in less than an hour now.

About twenty minutes later Roarke appeared from the main house where he had retreated earlier; this time his manner was brisk and a little worried. At that point Paul was just setting aside slices of each of his three cheeses specifically for the contest judges, and the white suit caught his attention somehow. Before Roarke reached his station, though, there was a sudden exclamation from behind, and people all over the yard turned around to stare at none other than Gladys Newbold.

Roarke, for his part, nearly groaned aloud. The woman had been a singular pain all weekend long; a few of his employees had even approached him in regard to doing something about her, since some of their children had fallen victim to her endless nit-picking. If she decided to find something about the contest setup to criticize… Hastily he crossed the yard in her direction. "Mrs. Newbold…" he began, hoping to distract her.

"Mah goodness, Mr. Roarke, there you are," she chirped, looking for all the world as if she had just received a full-body massage. "You know, it's just occurred to me…you really should award this cheese a prize. Ah just tried a slice, and it is _divine!_ Have you had some yet?" She waved a chunk of it in front of him, and Roarke flinched instinctively back.

"As a matter of fact, no," he said, startled.

"Why, it just makes you feel _grand!"_ Mrs. Newbold trilled, beaming. Roarke had the feeling it was the first time she had really smiled the entire weekend. "You seem to be a little bit rushed yourself, maybe you should have a little bit. It seems to purely relax you." She actually giggled before waggling her fingers at him. "Ta-ta!"

Roarke stared after her just long enough for her to get out of earshot before he finally remembered the question he had meant to ask. With a sigh he turned to Genia Prentice and inquired, "Miss Prentice, have you by any chance seen my daughter lately?"

"Not for a while, Mr. Roarke," Genia said. "Last I saw her she was with Prince Christian. They're probably just checking up on other stuff, you know?"

"Perhaps so…thank you," said Roarke, but hesitated, eyeing Genia's cheese. At the moment she was alone; George had left Genia here on her own while he tried to talk to Janelle. "Forgive me, Miss Prentice, but I admit to a raging case of curiosity. What exactly are those…items in your cheese?"

"Oysters," Genia said and grinned. "Funny how when people eat some of this, they suddenly get in this great mood. Even that old biddy who just toddled out of here got happy. Maybe the judges'll get happy too, and we'll win."

Roarke eyed her for a moment but ultimately let it drop. "Well, thank you," he said once more and left her to try to ply her cheese on others. He continued asking contestants if they had seen Leslie, but most of them hadn't, certainly not recently.

Just as he put the question to Paul Mahtonen, the rumble of a motor became audible, and Paul gestured at the lane where a jeep hove into view. "Looks like her right there."

Roarke looked around. "Ah, so it is. Thank you, Mr. Mahtonen." He strode out to the lane in time to see that Christian was with Leslie, and at the moment they were indulging in a long, deep kiss. He shook his head once in amazement and approached them, clearing his throat loudly and deliberately.

They came apart with a jerk and blinked at him. "Oh, Mr. Roarke," said Christian.

"Hi, Father," Leslie said, looking a little sheepish. "Did you need me for anything?"

"Indeed I did, young lady…namely to perform your job duties! The contest is about to begin, and I expected you here! Where have you been?"

Christian chuckled before Leslie could say anything. "My apologies, Mr. Roarke, I'm afraid it's my fault. I spirited her away for a while so that we could have a little time alone together…we get so little of that these days, with three active small children. If I had known you needed her, I wouldn't have done it. I hope we haven't caused too much damage."

"You're fortunate that there's been no real harm done, but…" Roarke broke off, distracted by Christian's insistence, however unwitting, on caressing Leslie; the prince's hands were coming dangerously close to some strategic places on her body. "Christian, please, I must ask you to show some restraint!"

Christian looked down, realized what he was doing and let Leslie go, grinning with only a little embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"This isn't like you at all," Roarke said, staring at him. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know if I'd call it wrong, exactly," Leslie ventured. "Just unusual. You know, maybe it's that oyster cheese Genia Prentice has been handing out all afternoon. I mean, I know oysters are supposed to be aphrodisiacs and all, but…" The look on Roarke's face made her check herself. "Father, are you all right?"

"Which one of you had the cheese?" Roarke asked.

"I did," Christian said. "It was a strange combination, but I've tasted worse things."

"And what exactly happened after you ate it?" Roarke asked.

Christian shrugged. "I simply suddenly felt like taking Leslie to some secluded spot. Ah, it was worth it." He smiled at his wife, who blushed but smiled back.

"And you, Leslie?" Roarke prodded.

She made a face. "No, the oysters put me off it. The combination was just too weird for me. Father, what're you getting at?"

"Oysters don't elicit that strong a reaction," Roarke noted, speaking as if to himself. "I think I'd better investigate a little further." He focused on his daughter and son-in-law. "If you two would kindly park the vehicle and then join me at the judges' booth, I'll be able to get the contest under way. Excuse me." He strode away without waiting for either of them to respond, purpose in his step.

"I can't wait to find out what's going on," Leslie said, putting the jeep back in gear and letting it coast to the far side of the fountain, where she parked it and pocketed the keys. "Come on, my love, let's go see what's happening."

"I'd rather take you upstairs and make love to you again," Christian said softly.

"I know you would, but you'll just have to wait," Leslie said, smiling and patting his shoulder. "Come on."

"Just once more?" Christian coaxed.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, listen to yourself, would you? I've never seen you so out of control. Get a hold of yourself and come with me, so we can solve the mystery." Christian let out a put-upon sigh, but finally acceded, following her closely into the clearing while she headed for the station where Genia Prentice was hovering over her cheese. George had joined her by this time, and Roarke stood in front of the table, waiting while Genia cut off a small chunk of cheese and handed it to him. They all stood watching curiously as Roarke lifted the cheese, about to take a bite, and then stopped, inhaling deeply. A frown marred his features and he stared at the cheese in his hand, then at Genia, who suddenly looked nervous. Christian and Leslie glanced at each other.

"Is it okay, Mr. Roarke?" George asked, sounding anxious.

Roarke blinked once or twice and straightened up, smiling at George. "Of course, it seems to be just fine, Mr. Prentice. I hope you won't mind if I speak with your daughter for a few moments? Miss Prentice, may I see you in my office?"

Genia swallowed but nodded. "Uh, sure, Mr. Roarke."

"You two may as well come along," Roarke said, gesturing at Christian and Leslie, and they dutifully trailed Roarke and a jittery Genia into the main house. When everyone had sat down in the study, Roarke leaned forward, displayed the bit of cheese at Genia, and asked point-blank, "Where did you get the potion you put into this?"

"Potion!?" Leslie blurted, astonished.

"What do you mean, potion?" Christian put in.

Roarke kept his gaze on Genia, who began fiddling frenetically with a hank of her dark curly hair. "This cheese contains a fair amount of…" He hesitated, spared Christian one apologetic glance, then said heavily, "…a love potion."

"_Herregud,"_ Christian muttered and fell back in his seat. "No wonder I've been feeling so strange the last couple of hours." He met Leslie's amused gaze and added, "Not that I haven't enjoyed it, of course, but even I've wondered a few times what's going on."

Leslie grinned, and Roarke returned his scrutiny to Genia, who could no longer meet his penetrating stare. "Miss Prentice?" he prodded.

Genia seemed to wilt in her chair. "I didn't mean any harm by it, Mr. Roarke. I was just hoping it might give us a better shot at winning." She blew out her breath. "There are other cheesemakers here that're better than we are, and we knew it going in. We were trying to come up with something unique that'd have a shot at winning. The company isn't doing too well, Mr. Roarke. We need a shot of cash so we can introduce a couple new varieties and buy advertising to promote them."

"I see," said Roarke. "Unfortunately, you haven't answered my original question."

Genia literally squirmed in the chair. "It happened last evening after Dad and I had supper at the hotel. I was on my way down to the luau to see if I could find Janelle, and this guy stopped me and we started talking. We found out we were both here for reasons other than a vacation, and he started telling me all about this fantasy he had, about getting this woman he'd had a crush on forever to fall in love with him. He sounded like it hadn't worked out after all. Anyway, he said he still had some of the potion left that you gave him, and when I told him about the contest, he said maybe I could use the stuff in our cheese. I wasn't too sure at first, but he said since we put oysters in our cheese anyway, people would just assume they felt like that because of those. So he gave me the vial, and I took it back to the kitchen and started mixing up a batch of cheese, with the last of the oysters I got Friday afternoon. And I just poured the rest of his potion into the mix." She bit her lip and slid a sidewise glance in Leslie's general direction, without turning her head to actually look at Leslie. "Trouble is, Mrs. Enstad came in and almost caught me. I'd just put in the potion, and when she called out, I dropped the vial."

"Oh, so that's what that was," Leslie exclaimed. She nodded at her father's quizzical look. "I was just checking to be sure everything was okay in the kitchen—Mariki made me promise I would. Genia was in there by herself. I heard the vial break when it hit the floor, but I had no idea it was one of yours."

"Ah," Roarke responded, turning the bit of cheese over and over in his hand. "It seems to me that you met up with Mr. Duncan Kingfisher. He is still on the island, Leslie, is he not? I'll need to have a few words with him as well."

"Still occupying the Lotus Bungalow, yep," Leslie said. "I think I heard him telling somebody he was still hoping to connect with a woman before he had to go back to Montana and his bachelor existence."

Roarke smiled a little. "Yes, I see. Well, then, Miss Prentice…surely you've noticed the results of your…secret ingredient."

"Yeah," Genia said through a sigh. "I guess this means we're disqualified. I mean…it's the only cheese we entered, and since I tinkered with it…"

"I don't think the rules said anything about prohibiting certain ingredients," Leslie put in then. "I mean, we did have to beef up the rules in the wine-tasting contests after what happened back in '79, but this is something entirely different. Even if it was one of your potions, Father, it's not as if it was anything harmful."

Roarke met her gaze, expressionless at first, and then he grinned. "Atop that," he said lightly, "Miss Prentice's last-minute addition seems to have helped to mellow a certain Mrs. Gladys Newbold very nicely indeed." Christian and Leslie looked at each other and laughed, and Genia finally smiled, still red-faced but beginning to perk up.

"Mr. Roarke," she said a little hesitantly, "do you mind if I take that piece of cheese you've got there? I, uh…well, when I met Duncan, I liked him. He was really cute, you know? Kinda seemed to me like that woman he had a crush on had no clue what she was missing. Maybe I could get him interested in me…" She shrugged as Roarke, Christian and Leslie began to laugh again. "Well, heck, it's not like I wanted to inherit the cheese business from my father anyway. Montana sounds really interesting."

"By all means, then," Roarke chuckled, handing her the cheese. "I wish you luck."

"Thanks, Mr. Roarke. Never thought I'd get to have a fantasy of my own," Genia exclaimed, beamed at him, and then scurried out of the room on her hosts' lingering mirth.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- April 30, 2006

"And the winner of our competition, the first annual Fantasy Island Cheesemakers' Competition, is…" The head judge raised a small plate that held a miniature slice of bread topped with a mound of caramel-colored substance. "Erik Olaf Mortensson, of Helmsgård, Lilla Jordsö, with his _Frykostmysost!"_

Christian joined willingly in the enthusiastic applause, remarking with a grin, "I knew he had something special there. That's why I made arrangements for him to ship us some of his product each month."

"I'm glad you could spot a winner, my love, but…" Leslie turned to Roarke in disbelief. "Father…Paul Mahtonen didn't get his fantasy!"

Roarke smiled at her and checked his gold pocket watch. "The weekend hasn't yet ended, Leslie, and neither has the contest. Why don't you wait before you declare failure."

"I thought there was only one prize," Leslie said, confused. "Are you saying there are other ones too? Geez, next time we have one of these things, I'm going to sign up as a judge so I can get the full story, instead of you keeping me in the dark like you do."

On Roarke's grin, the head judge spoke again: "Congratulations, Mr. Mortensson. He is the recipient of the $50,000 grand prize. Now for the $10,000 first prizes; we have three of those. Number one: the prize for Best Snacking Cheese goes to Mr. Paul Mahtonen, of Marquette, Michigan, USA, for his Sunspots!"

Again applause rang out as Paul stepped forward and accepted his prize; Leslie expected him to be upset or at least subdued, but he seemed quite happy to claim the money. Instead of returning to his station, Paul approached them, his face full of smiles and his eyes sparkling. "This is great, Mr. Roarke, thanks."

"But you wanted to win the grand prize," Leslie protested, unable to hold her own counsel in the face of what she saw as a failure. "I thought you'd be furious."

"Well, you know, maybe I've been focusing too much on one thing—getting the old business back," Paul said with a small shrug. "George Prentice hammered a couple truths into my head a while ago. Seems my father wished the Prentices luck with the business and gave them his blessing. I never knew that. I mean, I did see the transaction, but I was outside, looking through a window. Couldn't quite stand to go in and witness it completely. So of course, I had no idea what was actually being said during the transaction. I guess Dad had the right idea all along, and it had to be pounded into my brain to make me see it."

"So what do you plan to do with the money?" Roarke inquired.

"I'm thinking about starting my own business. There's no reason in the world I can't run a nice small cheesemaking operation by myself and make it a hobby, or an extra moneymaking enterprise, instead of my entire life's obsession. I figured out the hard way that I've lost too much in the pursuit of my dream. Stuff I'll never get back." A wistful expression crossed his face for a moment, then he shrugged again. "But that's life, I guess."

The head judge had announced the winner for Best Dessert Cheese while they were talking; now they all turned to hear the last winner's name. "And finally, the prize for Most Unusual Cheese goes to Genia and George Prentice, of Marquette, Michigan, for their Love Me, Love My Cheese!"

Christian and Leslie took one look at each other and began to laugh; they joined in the applause while George Prentice went up to the judges' booth and accepted the $10,000 prize. Paul looked curiously on. "What happened to Genia?" he asked.

"She seems to have found a new friend," Roarke said with a smile that made Christian and Leslie snicker again. He turned his attention to George Prentice as the man came toward them bearing his check. "Congratulations, Mr. Prentice."

George chuckled good-naturedly. "Not quite what we were hoping for, but I guess we're lucky we won anything at all, considering what was in the cheese. It was Genia's idea, so I let her put it all together. I guess we can still manage a little advertising with this."

"Good luck, Mr. Prentice," Paul said quietly.

George looked up and studied him for a moment, then stuck out a hand. "Thanks, and congrats on your win too. Say, uh…you got any particular plans for your cash?"

Paul shrugged. "Not too sure yet, maybe set up a little business of my own. I haven't decided. How come?"

George seemed oddly diffident. "Well, I, uh…I tried your cheeses earlier, and I gotta tell you, kid, you really have a knack. Those suckers are fabulous." He sighed softly and confessed, "To tell you the truth, they beat heck out of most of our selections."

Paul stared at him. "I always thought cheesemaking was your big dream too."

"Naah, not so much really. I inherited the business from Pop, and up till then I was a cook. Working my way up to owning my own restaurant one day. That kind of fizzled out when I got the cheese business. But Genia doesn't have much interest in it—oh, sure, she makes her share of cheese, but for her it's just a job. We've been gradually slowing down over the years since Pop bought the business, and sales are dropping a little more every year. I know why. None of us has that drive, that push, to make great and different cheeses, not the way you do. If you do start a business, you're likely to push us right out…so I was sort of hoping for a compromise at least." George took a deep breath while Paul gaped at him. "If you're agreeable, maybe you'd like to come back and work for us…as head cheesemaker. Your name'd go on all the labels as the creator of the different cheeses, and the way they taste, we'd be thriving in no time. And, uh…when I'm ready to retire, probably in the next few years, I'll be glad to pass the whole thing down to you…lock, stock and barrel."

Paul floundered while they all watched him, and finally croaked, "Why would you do a thing like that, after all the history between us?"

" 'Cause this is what you were born to do," George told him simply. " 'Cause you're so damn good at it. You could give the company a real shot in the arm. We'd be making money hand over fist in no time flat. Besides," he added with a grin, "it'd give you a chance to try to get back in Janelle's good graces."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Paul said, clearing his throat and then deliberately pasting on a smile, "but your offer sure is tempting. Mind if I think about it and get back to you? It's a lot to consider."

"Oh yeah, sure, I understand. Just don't take too long, or there might not be anything left for you to rescue," George kidded. Paul laughed; they shook hands and George left them after one more thanks to Roarke.

"Well, I sure never expected that," Paul remarked, staring after him.

"Do you think you'll accept it?" Christian asked.

Paul frowned slightly. "I might have jumped on it before," he said slowly, "but maybe I'm better off steering clear. I mean…well, like I said, I lost too much during all those years I was being bitter and single-minded. I probably need to think of something other than cheese for a change, for once in my life. And anyway, Janelle wouldn't be too likely to want me around all the time."

"Don't bet on it," said someone from behind, and there was Janelle Frainey, watching and smiling a little. "Maybe you better leap at that offer, Paul."

"Thought you'd had all you could stand of me," Paul said as Roarke, Christian and Leslie moved back several paces to give them a little privacy.

"Well, I came back to see what the contest results were, and I overheard everything you said to Mr. Roarke and to Uncle George. I never said you should give up making cheese altogether, Paul. I just thought you were doing it only because it meant so much to your father, and if it weren't for him you wouldn't be bothering. But I guess it really is in your blood. And, well, I figure if you got your head on straight, I should do the same with mine. I'm sorry I didn't come clean to you about being related to the Prentices. But I was afraid to tell you at first, back in college, because I thought we could have something really good, and by the time we started having problems, I figured it didn't matter anyway. I should have let you know from the beginning."

Paul shrugged, seeming a little uncomfortable. "Hey, no problem. I can see where you were coming from. I promise, that's all in the past now. Are you really sure you want me to take your uncle's offer? I mean, like I said, I'd be around all the time, and you'd probably get really sick of me."

"How about we go someplace and talk about it," Janelle suggested and grinned at him. "Don't lose your check." They both laughed as Paul folded it small and stuffed it into his pocket, and sauntered out of the yard hand in hand, already talking.

"It seems Paul Mahtonen's fantasy was granted after all, my Rose," Christian said, "although not quite the way he expected it would be."

"That's how it always happens here," Leslie said, eyeing Roarke with a faint smile. "Ever since I first came here and started learning about the business, I've seen that that's what happens just about every single time. I used to think it was kind of a ripoff, the first few weeks." She grinned at Roarke's startled look. "Gotcha there, didn't I, Father? See, I can keep secrets too." Roarke chuckled, and she went on, "But I figured out eventually that the way the fantasies ended up turning out was almost always better for the guests. They had fun, they learned a little something, and they came out a little better and with different outlooks on life sometimes."

"That's the goal I strive for," Roarke said, smiling and gazing after the retreating backs of Paul Mahtonen and Janelle Frainey. "And I always have the same sense of gratification every time that goal is reached."

§ § § -- May 1, 2006

It was a party of five that stepped out of the first car Monday morning to face Roarke and Leslie: George Prentice, Janelle Frainey, Paul Mahtonen, Genia Prentice, and Duncan Kingfisher. "Well," Roarke remarked, "it appears several fantasies have come true here this weekend. Mr. Kingfisher, I thought you were staying a little longer."

"I finally got what I came for, Mr. Roarke," said Duncan Kingfisher, a lean, tanned fellow somewhere in his late thirties with a pronounced Midwestern twang. He grinned at Genia, who returned it with interest. "Genia and I really clicked…and I didn't even need your love potion to make it happen." He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, giving Roarke a sheepish grin. "I'm sure sorry I did what I did with the last of that potion."

"In the end, there was no harm done, Mr. Kingfisher. I wish you and Miss Prentice the best of luck." Roarke and Kingfisher shook hands; Genia took her turn, and then they headed off for the plane.

"I got a feeling my daughter's headed for a Montana ranch," commented George Prentice with a laugh. "But hey, she's free to do what she wants. And now I know the business'll be in good hands when I'm ready to pass it down. It's finally going back to someone who can make it perform to its maximum potential. And heck, it doesn't hurt that he's planning on marrying my niece, either."

"That can only be a bonus," Leslie said, and everyone laughed. They all shook hands and made their farewells; Janelle even gave Roarke and then Leslie a quick hug before she retreated toward the plane with Paul and George.

The second car came up as they were waving back to them, and Gladys Newbold stepped out, smoothing her skirt and smiling broadly at them. "Well now, who'd _evuh_ have thought Ah'd be leavin' this island feeling so much better than when Ah got here."

"Do you really?" Leslie asked in surprise.

"Ah surely, surely do. Ah tell you, it must have been that wonderful cheese Ah ate yesterday. Ah truly do think there's something _healthy_ in that substance, Mr. Roarke." She smiled again and adjusted the flower-bedecked straw hat on her head. "Ah just wish Ah'd gotten the name of that nice young lady who let me try a little of it. Well, anyway…Ah do thank you for mah fantasy. It was a difficult job, but I was more than glad to take it on."

"Job?" Roarke repeated blankly.

"Teachin' these young people some _manners_, let me tell you. That's what's sorely lackin' in today's minors. Ah've been tryin' and tryin' for simply _years_ to make mah granddaughter Ashley listen to me."

"You must have done something right," Leslie ventured. "After all, she loves you. She must love you, to ask Father to let you have your fantasy."

Mrs. Newbold stilled and stared at her, then blinked several times as if the sun were in her eyes. "Well, Ah do declare…you just might be right, young lady."

"Of course," Roarke said, smiling. "Your family loves you in their own special way, Mrs. Newbold, no matter who you are. Perhaps you'd give them the gift of doing the same for them."

Mrs. Newbold dug in her purse and extracted a large lacy handkerchief, with which she proceeded to dab at her eyes. "You are _so_ right, Mr. Roarke. Ah surely, surely will. Thank y'all both _evuh_ so much."

"You're quite welcome," Roarke replied, grasping her hand for a moment, then brightened. "Oh yes, and if you do in fact wish to get some more of the cheese you so enjoyed, you might speak to Miss Genia Prentice. She is also on today's flight."

Mrs. Newbold lit right up. "Oh, how wonderful, Mr. Roarke, thank you!" She beamed at them both, then released him and hurried toward the plane, pausing to wave her handkerchief at them before striking off up the dock to the seaplane's hatch.

"Whew," Leslie said as they watched her climb aboard. "Thank goodness I got away without hearing her chastise me again for all those so-called PDAs she claimed I was committing with Christian yesterday." Roarke looked at her in surprise, then began to laugh, slipping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing affectionately.


End file.
